


evermore, my love

by crickes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive Parents, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Autistic Cas, Autistic!cas, Childhood Friends, Childhood Trauma, Friends to Lovers, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Religious Guilt, Reunions, Slow Burn, Small Towns, anyways I have a thing for reunion fics apparently, anyways everyone but them knows they're still in love with each other, author!Cas, mechanic!Dean, pining!dean, they're idiots ma'am
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:54:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 33,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28699497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crickes/pseuds/crickes
Summary: Dean knew the drill. Castiel comes back to town, Dean hides. Castiel spends a few days visiting friends and family, enjoys Christmas with his loved ones, and then gets out of town. Dean spends the holidays looking over his shoulder to make sure he doesn't run into his ex-boyfriend on accident. Ex-bestfriend. Whatever. He'd done it every Christmas for the past eight years, what was one more round in the grand scheme of things?When a sudden loss sends Castiel reeling, however, Dean's the only one who can pick up the pieces.He's the only one who knows how.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Donna Hanscum/Jody Mills, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Ellen Harvelle/Bobby Singer
Comments: 14
Kudos: 59





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I like to call this fic "How many SPN fanon tropes can I shove into one piece of writing?"
> 
> Anyways, there's a character death. Not a main character in the show, but he's featured pretty heavily here. Just a heads up.
> 
> Also, for the sake of clarity, I have autism and this fic is centered pretty heavily around my own worldly experiences. Please do not leave comments regarding how my description of autism doesn't match what you believe autistic people to behave like, because these behaviors and thought processes are directly modeled after my own.
> 
> Lastly, yes, this is inspired by the Taylor Swift album. I can't help when I hyperfixate lol

_**8 years ago** _

Fuck.

That wasn’t how the night was supposed to go.

It was ridiculous, really. Dean had thought he’d done everything right. He’d bought champagne, planned a whole date night, and set up a party at the Roadhouse to celebrate afterwards. He’d scrounged for weeks to be able to afford a nice ring. Platinum. Expensive.

And it was all for nothing.

All for nothing because Cas had said no.

And now, he was kneeling on one knee, in the middle of the fucking tennis court, staring at the Christmas lights lining the edge of the event tent over his head, wondering what the fuck had just happened.

The ring box in his hand weighed a thousand pounds. Somehow, his heart weighed even more.

In the distance, he saw Cas’ frame disappear into the crowd, snowflakes swirling in his wake.

Fuck.

* * *

_**Present Day** _

The book in Dean’s hands was on the thinner side, thinner than the last one Cas had written. It was slim, with a dark green hard cover and silver detailing running down the front in patterns reminiscent of vines. Kinda girly, but whatever. Dean ran his hands across the title, feeling the indentations under his fingertips.

 _Evermore,_ by Castiel Novak.

He didn’t know what Cas’ new book was about. Hell, he didn’t know what any of Cas’ books were about. All he knew is that he was going to sit here for the next hour with the book in his hands, too scared to even think about cracking the cover open.

It was a little ritual he had, a private one he indulged in whenever Cas announced a new novel on his website. He’d grab a coffee from the little shop next to the bookstore, wander around for about half an hour poking at books he’d never even think about reading, before eventually building up the courage to head back to the front of the store and grab Cas’ new book from the table the shop set up for releases they wanted to push hard. Then, he’d take the book and his coffee, find a chair somewhere, and sit with the book in his hands until his coffee went cold, trying to muster up the courage to open the damn thing up and just fucking read his ex-boyfriend’s stories already.

He never actually managed to read anything aside from the title.

He couldn’t even read the dedication page, too terrified of the names he’d see written there. Would Cas have a new boyfriend he’d written the story for? He wrote romances, after all. That’s all Dean knew, though. Was there someone out there he’d be writing those love stories for?

Dean didn’t want to admit it, but he was pretty sure the reason he didn’t want to find out was because that would mean admitting the books were never dedicated to him.

He heaved a sigh, running a finger down the book’s spine.

“You know, if you want to read a book, you gotta open it first,” a teasing voice broke through Dean’s focus.

He glanced up.

Claire, Cas’ niece, stood in front of Dean, staring down at him with an impish grin. Her blonde hair was pulled back tight into a braid, showing off her multitude of ear piercings that would’ve broken the dress code at any corporate store. She stood loosely, a relaxed posture that made it seem as if the very weight of the world could roll right off of her shoulders and she wouldn’t care. Dean knew differently though. He could see behind the dark smudge of eyeliner, studded leather jacket, and tough exterior she tried to present. He could see the bags under her eyes from late nights studying, and the ink marks under her nails from writing.

She wanted to be a writer someday, just like her uncle Cas. Not that she’d ever admit that to anyone. She was much too scared of being vulnerable enough to admit it.

He grunted at her.

“Yeah, I know how to fuckin’ read, asshole,”

Claire’s smile widened at his teasing.

“Is that Cas’ new book?”

He nodded, rubbing his thumb over the rough surface of the cover.

“You actually gonna read it this time?”

He shrugged.

“Maybe,”

The look in her eyes turned positively devilish.

“Well, if you wanna read it, you gotta buy it. Those are the rules,”

“Since when?”

“Since Chuck got mad at me for letting Alfie read his way through half of the _Taken_ series right under his nose,” She huffed a sigh, “Besides, it’s kinda pathetic to see you sitting here like this. You could just talk to him, you know? It’s been years; you’d think one of you would’ve cracked by now,”

Dean bristled.

“It’s not exactly easy to get past what happened, Claire,”

Claire didn’t rise to the barbs in his voice. Instead, she rolled her eyes and began picking at her already-chipped-to-hell nail polish.

“I get it. Or at least, I think I get it. Still,” she pulled off a particularly large chip of paint, “I know how much the two of you meant to each other. I remember what it was like before the two of you split,” her eyes were focused on her nails. A little too focused, as if she were trying to avoid making eye contact with Dean at all costs.

He sighed, eyes falling back to the book in his hands. He’d never actually bought one of Cas’ books. The man had released almost six of them in the time since they’d last spoken, and he hadn’t bought a single one. Man, he was a shitty friend. Ex-boyfriend. Whatever.

“Fine,”

Claire looked up at him.

“Fine?”

“Fine,” he suppressed a groan at the teasing he knew was coming, “I’ll buy the damn book,”

Claire surprised him. Instead of teasing him, she just looked at him with a soft smile.

“Cool,”

He took a sip of his coffee. It was still warm.

* * *

Castiel rubbed a hand over his eyes, exhaustion seeping out of every pore in his body. The phone call from his publisher had left him feeling more tired than he would’ve thought possible, and he wasn’t quite sure why. It had been just standard, run-of-the-mill, congrats-on-the-new-book stuff. Nothing intensive. Nothing crazy.

So why was he so fucking tired?

Maybe it was the airport. The storm cell floating over most of the Midwest had delayed his plane for hours on end, leaving him stranded at the airport bar, waiting for the intercom to announce his flight was ready again. He swirled his drink in his glass, a strange mix of whiskey and some unidentified sweet mixer. He’d just pointed to the first thing on the menu when he’d sat down, hoping to limit contact with the bartender as much as possible.

It wasn’t that he was intentionally an asshole. He just had trouble communicating with people. Autism, apparently. At least, that’s what the psychiatric evaluation had said when he was a child. Asperger’s, specifically, though he preferred not to call it that. Autism had a better ring to it, it got the point across clearer. It also felt better in his mouth, but that wasn’t something he’d tell anyone else. At least, not anyone aside from the one person he had told. The person he’d told all his secrets to, a long time ago.

It had to be the airport screwing with his head. That’s why he wasn’t able to control his thoughts or emotions.

It also had to be why he couldn’t get his mind off of Dean.

Claire’s text had really thrown him off kilter.

_Guess who just bought your new book?_

She’d attached a blurry shot of Dean from a low angle, obviously taken without his knowledge. In the photo, he’d been just as beautiful as ever, with his hands wrapped awkwardly around a small green item. Castiel’s new book. He was smiling, the small smile Castiel knew he reserved for the people who he truly cared about. Castiel’s heart warmed as he realized that meant Dean truly cared about Claire. He was glad the girl had people looking out for her, especially people as loyal as Dean. She had a habit of getting into trouble, and she could use every ally she could find. Dean had always doted on her when she was younger, and Castiel was glad that he still cared enough about her despite the fact that they were no longer together.

Dean’s eyes were cut off, a sacrifice made by Claire when she took the surreptitious photo, but Castiel knew what they looked like. Green, crinkled in the corners by his smile, and framed by freckles.

Fuck, if Castiel could do it all over again, he would’ve married that man in a heartbeat, if only to wake up to that damn smile every day. To see those eyes staring at him when he woke up in the mornings.

He sighed shakily, switching off his phone and taking a sip of his unknown drink.

This was going to be a long week.

The intercom system crackled overhead.

“Now boarding flight eight-zero-five-three for Kansas City at gate twenty-two,” the soft, mechanical sounding voice said over Castiel’s head.

He drained his drink, letting the sweet whiskey mixture settle over his tongue and soothe his nerves. The warmth flooded through his body almost instantly, as he placed the glass back on the bar top.

When he finally made it through the boarding process and onto the plane, he ordered himself another drink. Anything to steel his nerves against the visit back to Lawrence.

He didn’t want to admit it but seeing that Dean had bought his book had sent a thrill through him unlike anything he’d felt in a while. Years, even. It didn’t help that the book he had bought was the book based on their own story of heartbreak and loss.

A young man proposes to the love of his life, only to be rejected. It was a depressing story to tell, one his publishers had balked at when he’d first submitted it. Honestly, he was pretty sure that if it weren’t for his previously established reputation for storytelling, the

manuscript would’ve been rejected outright. Even with his reputation, the publishers had still required him to add in a message of hope to the whole thing. There had to be a chance of reconciliation, an open door at the end of the long, dark hallway.

There was no such door in real life.

Despite all that, the book was still about Dean, for Dean.

Even the dedication page was for him. Not explicitly. Not in any way that would make him uncomfortable. Just a simple _For you, wherever you are_. That had been the part of his novel that had gotten the most media buzz. Who was the mysterious ex that the great Castiel Novak had dedicated a break up story to?

He had rolled his eyes when his agent had sent him the articles. Luckily, Dean had always been a rather private person, so no reporter had managed to figure it out just yet. All the better. Castiel knew Dean wouldn’t be comfortable with any undue media attention, especially if it had anything to do with the man who had humiliated him publicly and broken his heart.

His head fell back against the seat’s headrest.

Fuck.

He could only hope Dean wasn’t planning on reading his book. He knew it was a stupid wish.

Almost as stupid as the hope that Dean _would_ read it.

* * *

It was cold as balls by the time he finished his purchase. Claire had handed him the wrapped-up book with a wink and smile, promising to tell her uncle Cas about his latest book sale. Dean glared at her and told her that if she did, he’d be sure to rat out her favorite smoke spots to her dad. She immediately backed off, throwing her hands in the air as if to say _alright, fine, whatever_.

Her father, Jimmy, was a nice guy. That was really the only word Dean had to describe him. Nice. Even though he and Cas were identical in appearance – technically – they couldn’t have been more different in mannerisms. Where Cas was awkward and nerdy and weird, Jimmy was just average. An average guy with an average life and an average job. The most exciting thing to ever happen to him was Claire. How someone like Jimmy, the salesman whose most interesting feature was his relation to Cas, managed to produce Claire, the girl who accidentally burned down a barn last summer while trying to hotwire an old car, Dean would never know.

Snow was falling as he walked home, flakes gently catching on his eyelashes.

He liked it when it snowed. It reminded him of when he was younger, before the realities of life had caught up to him. When it snowed, he could close his eyes and imagine what it was like as a child, when his mom would wrap him up in a warm scarf and send him outside to play, promising hot chocolates for him and Cas when they got back. The memories were a nice buffer against the cold. They were also a nice thing to focus on when he was trying to avoid thinking about how much shoveling he’d have to do later.

Fuck, his entire driveway would probably be covered by this time tomorrow. Maybe he should just pull his car into the garage and walk to work in the morning. It wasn’t like it was too far. Bobby’d probably kill him, but he could deal with that later. A cranky old coot yelling at him was preferable to trying to start up a classic car on a cold morning.

Maybe it was his recent purchase, maybe it was just the hopeless sucker in him, whatever the reason, he couldn’t keep his thoughts from returning to Cas.

His ex-boyfriend-slash-ex-bestfriend usually made an appearance in town around this time of year. Dean only ever knew about it from the local papers.

LOCAL AUTHOR RETURNS HOME they always said, usually accompanied by a picture of Cas at some local monument. Last year, it had been at the gazebo in the center of town. 

He usually tried to avoid public spaces during Cas’ visitation time. He felt like there was this unspoken understanding between the two of them that they should just try to avoid each other whenever possible.

Still, it didn’t stop him from his new-book-release ritual.

When he finally got home, Dean beelined it for his bedroom, stripping out of his winter gear on the way in and discarding it as he walked. The book in his hands felt like it grew heavier the closer he got to his bedroom.

He fell asleep on his bed, stripped down to his boxers, with the book held close to his chest.

* * *

He woke with a start and groaned at the stiffness in his back. He’d never admit to anyone, especially Claire, but he really was getting old, and the cold hit his body harder than it ever had before. Some mornings, he’d just lay there in bed, waiting for the soreness to subside before he could even think about moving.

This morning, his hesitation to leave the warmth of his bed was compounded by the fact that he knew he had to walk to work. His sleep addled brain wanted to strangle his awake brain for that genius decision. Fuck.

He rolled out of bed with a sigh, wincing as the cover of Cas’ book poked him in the ribs. He grabbed it and placed it on his nightstand, promising himself he’d find a better spot for it later.

He was dressed and ready to go in under 10 minutes, warm layers retrieved from the floor in his front entrance where he’d left them the night before and his good boots laced and ready to go.

The garage wasn’t that far of a walk, only eight minutes away on a good day, but the blustery winds definitely made the eight minutes miserable. The Midwest winter winds had a way of cutting through even the thickest jackets, stabbing at his bare skin with a thousand knives, making Dean regret ever having walked outside in the first place. He wrapped his scarf tighter around his face.

Bobby greeted him with a grunt, the same way he did every morning. Dean was used to it by now. He knew Bobby didn’t mean any harm by it; he was just a crotchety old man who cared more about Dean than Dean’s own father ever had.

“Boy, didja walk here?”

Dean rolled his eyes.

“Naw, I teleported. Course I walked here, Bobby. You think I’d be able to get Baby to start up when it’s this fuckin’ cold outside?”

Bobby scoffed, and Dean was pretty sure he heard the old man call him an idiot under his breath as he walked away, but he couldn’t say for certain.

“What’s on the schedule for today,”

“Check for yourself,” Bobby called from his office.

Dean rolled his eyes.

The schedule was printed out and pinned to the corkboard in the main shop room, just a simple time table with customer name, vehicle information, and job description. Bobby’s “no frills” attitude towards work extended into his paperwork to an almost annoying degree. The bare bones descriptors often meant Dean had to spend an extended amount of time under the vehicle, figuring out what needed to be done, and calling the vehicle owner to ensure the right parts were installed. He didn’t want to accidentally screw a customer over by giving them work they couldn’t afford.

It looked like today was going to be one of those days.

“NOVAK, 2007 PRIUS, SUSPENSION REPLACEMENT” was first on the docket, written neatly in Bobby’s ex-military handwriting.

“Hey Bobby, did you bother to ask Jimmy what his budget was for his suspension?”

Bobby didn’t answer, a pointed silence that Dean knew meant “Why no, Dean, I didn’t ask him because I’m an asshole who wanted you to do it,”

He shot a glare at Bobby’s office when he was sure the man couldn’t see before pulling a chair up in front of the phone and grabbing a pen and some paper. This was going to take a minute.

He twirled his pen in his fingers while the phone dialed. Jimmy picked up, signature advertisement salesman voice turned fully on.

“This is Jimmy, how can I help you?”

“Hey Jimmy, it’s Dean,”

“Heya Dean, how ya doin’?”

“Doin’ good, how ‘bout yourself?” Dean tried his best to stay relaxed. Jimmy and Cas didn’t share many traits, despite their close relation. While Jimmy’s voice was much livelier than Cas’ was, the timbre was still the same. It was one of the few similarities outside of their looks that they both had, and it always sent a gut punch rocking through his body when he heard it.

“I’m doing good!” Jimmy hesitated, ever so slightly, “Just about to go pick my brother up from the airport,”

There it was. There was the yearly visit announcement.

Dean did his best to make his voice as cheery as possible.

“That’s awesome, dude. Listen,” he winced at how over-the-top fake happy he sounded before segueing into the whole reason for his call, “I got you marked down for a new suspension here, but I see that Bobby didn’t go over anything beyond ‘give me a new suspension, please’ and I wanted to touch base with you on that,”

“Ah, that’s what this call’s about,” Dean could hear the quiet smile. Jimmy may have been a very boring person, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t nice. If anything, he was one of the nicest people Dean knew. The complete opposite of Cas’ tendency towards surly hostility. Yeah, Cas and Jimmy were two very different people.

“Yeah,” Dean cleared his throat, “Anyways, about that suspension-,”

Jimmy cut Dean off.

“Look, Dean, I trust you with the car. Please don’t ruin the surprise, but I’m planning to pass it off to Claire pretty soon here, just as soon as I get myself a new one,” Dean didn’t have to see Jimmy’s face to know he was smiling, that signature Novak twinkle in his eye. All of them had it. Claire, Cas, Jimmy. That little mischievous sparkle that sucked you in and made you want to help them with their crazy schemes.

He laughed.

“Cross my heart, I won’t tell. Still, I gotta ask, you got a budget for this? It can get pretty pricey,”

“No, just get whatever you think is best. Obviously don’t go crazy, but I trust your judgement. I know you’ll pick out what you think is best for my daughter,”

In the background, Dean heard Jimmy’s hazards flip on, a _tick-tick-tick_ that punctuated his words.

“Okay, sounds good, I can do that,”

The door to Jimmy’s car opened, a sharp sound that made Dean suck in a breath. Fuck, was that Cas?

Jimmy’s voice cut through Dean’s burgeoning panic.

“Hey, Dean, I’ve got you on speaker. My brother’s here with us. Before you go, I wanted to ask you about something?”

Dean swallowed around the lump forming in his throat.

“Yeah, what’s up?” He cringed at how reedy and thin his voice was.

“The Christmas parade is coming up. I was hoping you would be okay with helping out again this year?”

The Christmas parade. It was a yearly tradition in Lawrence, just a little rinky dink deal through the areas of town near Kansas University. In reality, it was more of a county fair than a parade. A bunch of food booths and carnival games, cheesy winter decorations, and Jack Frost nipping at everyone’s noses. It was cute, a good first date for local teenagers and college students. A little old-fashioned, but fun, nonetheless.

It was also where Dean had kissed Cas for the first time, all those years ago.

There was a committee that met every year to decide on events for the parade, headed up by Jimmy. Dean avoided it like the plague, with the singular exception of fixing up the mechanics for the floats. A job that kept him well away from everyone on the committee except Jimmy.

“You need help with floats again?” Dammit, why was his voice so shaky. It’s not like he was talking to Cas. Just around him.

“Actually,” Jimmy’s voice sounded like Claire’s had when she had been talking him into buying Cas’ book. Fuck, maybe Claire and Jimmy were more similar than he’d thought, “I was hoping you would be willing to sit in on the committee this year? What with Eileen’s pregnancy being as advanced as it is, it’s only fitting for her brother-in-law to step in, don’t you think?”

Dean clutched at straws.

“Can’t Sam step in for her?”

Dean knew damn well why his brother couldn’t step in for Eileen. His final year of law school, finals, wife who was eight months pregnant and could pop at any moment. Of course, Sam couldn’t step in.

“I already asked, he’s unavailable,”

Jimmy sounded positively diabolical. He knew if Dean said no, especially in front of Cas, he’d look like a dick. Fucking asshole salesman, backing him into a corner. Leave it to Jimmy to notice that Dean still cared about Cas’ opinion of him.

“I can help a little,” He said hesitantly, “Maybe,”

“I can deal with ‘maybe’. Cas, what do you think?”

Dean’s breath caught in his throat. It wasn’t like this was his first time talking to Cas since they’d split. It certainly wasn’t his first time hearing Cas’ voice in eight years. Still, his heart felt like it was beating three times too fast and simultaneously completely frozen in his chest. Every time he and Cas were in the vicinity of each other, this happened.

The silence hung down around his shoulders, a thick rope that tightened around his neck the longer it stretched out, choking him.

“I suppose,” Cas started. Fuck, his voice was rough. Same pitch as Jimmy’s but so much rougher, worn ragged on long nights working without a break.

Cas continued, “If you wanted help with the committee, Dean would be a sufficient choice. Very handy,”

“Wow, Cas,” The words blurted out before Dean could stop himself, “Sufficient. Handy. You tryin’ to write my resume over there?”

He regretted the joke as soon as he said it. The silence returned, as heavy as it had been before.

Cas’ rough voice was even more stilted than normal, an achievement that Dean figured had to be hard to reach.

“I apologize, it seems I didn’t phrase my thoughts properly,” He paused, “I merely meant to say that Dean would be a helpful addition to the committee,”

Dean suppressed a sigh. He wasn’t sure why he ever bothered trying. It’s not like he and Cas would ever be friends again. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if that was something he wanted, let alone whether or not it was something Cas wanted. Honestly, he really wasn’t sure what his goal here was.

“Yeah, well, I gotta go. Bobby’s calling me in for something,”

“Alright, Dean, sounds good. We’ll catch you later. I’ll send you the committee details in a bit,”

“Sounds like a plan,”

As soon as the phone call ended, Dean dropped his head to the desk and let out a loud groan.

Fuck.

* * *

Castiel shot his brother a glare as soon as he hit END CALL.

“That was inappropriate, and you know it,”

Jimmy shot him a devious smile.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,”

Castiel let out an exasperated sigh, rubbing a hand over his eyes. Frustration crept up the back of his neck, pins and needles poking him until he twitched his head back in a sharp nodding motion. Instantly, the spidery sensation receded.

Jimmy’s smile turned from teasing to apologetic in less than a moment.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get you worked up,”

Jimmy was good about not judging Castiel for stimming. He didn’t really understand it, not in the way that other neurodivergent people did, but he didn’t make fun of Castiel in the way everyone else did. The whispers had followed him his whole life.

_Crazy. Neurotic. Cracked out._

He didn’t think about the worst whisper. The worst word.

In his life, the only person he’d met who understood his need to stim, who truly got it, was Dean. Castiel had long suspected that Dean had undiagnosed ADHD. He certainly fit the bill. Couldn’t follow directions to save his life, had a temper meaner than a firecracker, impulsive as all hell, and the list went on. On the other hand, he was smart as a whip, good at making decisions on the fly, and great at coming up with off-the-wall ideas. So yeah, probably neurodivergent as well.

He definitely stimmed, though he did it in different ways than Castiel did. He stimmed using music and fiddling with car parts, by laughing loudly for too long, and singing at the top of his lungs.

Castiel, on the other hand, stimmed by rocking his head back, picking at his fingers, and a whole host of other, less palatable habits. He certainly looked the part of an autist. Dean passed as neurotypical, albeit as a neurotypical with authority issues.

He knew he shouldn’t be thinking about Dean this much. It was painful.

Jimmy snapped his fingers.

“Hey bud, where’d you go?”

“I didn’t _go_ anywhere, Jimmy,”

“I’m being metaphorical, Cas,”

Oh. Got it.

Castiel itched to be back in his Los Angeles apartment. Sure, the city was a lot noisier than Lawrence, but at least he could put his headphones in and tune out the sounds of the city while he worked. It was a lot harder to tune a single person out than an entire city, especially if they were sitting less than three feet away from you and snapping their fingers in your direction any time you left silence hanging for slightly too long.

“Cas,”

Cas didn’t respond. He knew Jimmy would know he was listening.

“Look, bud, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. That was wrong of me. I just think that you and Dean would do well to start speaking again,”

Castiel trained his eyes on a speck of bird poop on the windshield, a solid fixed point that was more pleasant to look at than his brother right now.

“I know you miss him,”

Castiel inclined his chin.

“You dedicated _Evermore_ to him,”

 _That_ got Castiel’s attention. He snapped his gaze to his brother.

“How did you know that?” He didn’t even bother trying to lie. He wasn’t very good at it, and he knew Jimmy would see through him in an instant.

Jimmy smiled.

“Because I know you, almost better than you know yourself,”

Castiel chewed over his brother’s words. He couldn’t quite meet Jimmy’s eyes, instead focusing on the bridge of Jimmy’s nose, the perfect spot to look when avoiding eye contact.

“I read your book. You miss him,”

Jimmy didn’t pull any punches when he spoke to Castiel. It was an agreement the two of them had come to as children. Castiel appreciated honesty, and Jimmy appreciated having someone in his life he could be completely honest with.

Normally, it didn’t rock him the way this conversation was currently doing.

“I don’t miss him,” Castiel groused.

“Could’ve fooled me,”

Castiel stared at the bird poop again, wishing that something would happen to derail this conversation. Anything. A car accident, a phone call, any sign that there was a god listening in on Castiel’s suffering and was willing to lend a helping hand.

“If you want to, you could always help out with the committee again this year. I’m sure Dean would love to have you around,”

“I highly doubt that,”

Castiel knew Dean wouldn’t appreciate having him around. They hadn’t really left things on a great note all those years ago, and the few interactions they’d had in the interim had been unpleasant, to say the least.

Jimmy stared at him for as long as he could get away with it before turning back to the road with a sigh. His bright blue eyes sagged, a hint of exhaustion that he’d only allow Castiel to see. Jimmy didn’t like to appear weak.

“I don’t get it, Cas,” He started. His voice was quiet, devoid of his usual good humor and charm that made him successful in his line of work.

“Don’t get what?”

“I just,” Jimmy paused, running a hand over his eyes, momentarily blocking his sight of the road. 

Castiel panicked, reaching out to grab the steering wheel in an instant. Jimmy jumped at Castiel’s sudden movement.

“Don’t do that,” Castiel ground out, eyes focused on the road and left hand fixed steadily on the two o’clock position on the steering wheel.

Jimmy bit his lip.

“Sorry, Cas, I forgot about your whole… thing,”

“You shouldn’t forget to keep your eyes on the road,” Castiel gripped the steering wheel tighter.

Jimmy’s hand came down softly over his own, gently peeling Castiel’s fingers away before placing his own hand on the wheel.

“I’ll do better, I promise,”

Castiel rubbed at the skin on his hands where Jimmy had just touched. He hated being touched. It always made it feel like there were miniature fireworks under his skin, like little ants were trailing the touch all the way up into his spine.

He never understood why people craved fireworks in their romances. It was a detail that always seemed to work in his favor in his stories. A story with a dashing hero, a beautiful love interest, and fireworks when they kissed. People went crazy for it every time. They never got tired of sparks flying.

Castiel, on the other hand, hated sparks. He hated the feeling of fireworks buzzing under his skin. Maybe the people who liked them only did so because they experienced it so rarely. Not Castiel. He experienced it ever damn time someone touched him.

Well, almost everyone.

He tried not to think about the only person whose touch felt like nothing more than an extension of his own body. A natural meld that did nothing to upset his senses.

There was no point.

He wasn’t getting that person back.

He shook his head, as if he could dislodge the thoughts from his brain. He needed a distraction.

“You were saying something?”

Jimmy bit his lip.

“I was,”

“Then you should finish saying it,”

Jimmy laughed, nothing more than a huff of air with almost no amusement.

“Yeah, that’d be the logical thing to do, huh?”

Castiel wasn’t sure if it was a rhetorical question. He kept his eyes trained on the side of Jimmy’s face.

“I was saying, I don’t get it. I don’t get what went wrong with you and Dean. The two of you were practically made for each other,”

“Nothing went wrong, Jimmy,”

This wasn’t the distraction Castiel had been hoping for.

“I’d definitely say that turning down a marriage proposal counts as something going wrong,”

Castiel focused on his fingernails. There was a particularly nasty hangnail that he’d been worrying at all day, and it suddenly seemed incredibly interesting. More interesting than discussing a break up that had happened almost a decade ago.

Jimmy pressed on.

“I get it if you don’t want to talk about it. I do. But don’t you think that talking about it might be… I don’t know… healthy? You’ve never really talked about it before. You just said – “

Castiel cut him off.

“I know what I said,”

Jimmy flexed his hands on the steering wheel.

“Look, Cas, what I’m trying to say is this: you broke things off with your best friend after he proposed to you, and then never spoke to him again. At least, not for longer than thirty seconds,” He clarified when he Castiel started to interrupt him, “The two of you were attached at the hip for your entire lives. Everyone in town was convinced you would be just like that until you were both buried in the ground. You don’t talk about what happened to anyone outside of saying ‘He proposed and I said turned him down’. The first time I got details was when I read _Evermore_ ,” He paused again, “That scene was based on your own experiences, right?”

Castiel nodded, eyes trained on his hangnail.

“So, it’s obviously something that still holds weight in your mind, right?”

Castiel didn’t respond.

“Then maybe it’s time to try to move on. Closure or whatever,”

Closure was something you tried to get when you knew there was no chance of getting anything else. At least, that’s what Castiel thought closure was supposed to be.

Was that something he wanted with Dean? Closure? To let this weird, yearly ritual of theirs end forever? The one where Castiel came to town, and the two of them danced around each other in circles, never quite falling into each other’s orbit.

Castiel wasn’t sure. If he were being honest, he’d admit that he didn’t want closure. He wanted Dean. He wanted this yearly cycle, because it was the only part of Dean that he was convinced he’d be able to get.

He had a lot of regrets in his life. The night he’d said no to Dean was the biggest of them all.

* * *

The Christmas holidays weren’t the only reason for Castiel’s yearly return to Lawrence.

He was sorely reminded of that fact upon arriving at Jimmy’s home. The home that had been willed to him by their parents.

In fairness, it had been willed to both of them. Their parents had probably intended for them to sell it and then use the money they made to put down payments on new houses, one for each of them. In practice, though, Castiel hadn’t had it in him to force his brother into following through on that plan. Then, as the years went by, Jimmy just sort of _settled_ into the house, like he belonged. Castiel moved to Los Angeles. He still owned the house, or half of it, but he was just as much of a stranger there now as he had been as a child, growing up under its roof. An uncomfortable piece of a puzzle that didn’t want to be put together.

There were flowers on the kitchen counter top, small and large bouquets scattered across its surface in mismatched vases.

The downside of living in a small town? Everyone knew your business. Everyone knew when to send condolence flowers and anniversary wishes.

Everyone knew that the fourteenth of December would mark the thirteenth anniversary of the car crash that had taken Naomi and Michael Novak.

Castiel’s hands ghosted over the scars tracing up his right arm, where his skin had been grafted.

He remembered the sound of glass crunching, and the way his neck had snapped forward when the impact had hit. His arm had been trapped when the car’s frame had given way, pinned at a strange angle that left his nerve tingling and his hand numb.

He hadn’t screamed. Not at first.

Not until the gas tank caught fire.

Not until he felt like the skin was melting off of his bones.

It had felt strange, at first, like dipping a hand into a frozen lake, the sensation forcing its way along numbed neural pathways until he felt the heat. White hot, and expanding painfully. His hand had felt like it was simultaneously shrinking and growing at an infinite speed, like the life cycle of a star in the sky.

In that instant, he had understood exactly how white dwarves and supernovas felt during their creation and destruction.

He jerked his head back, flexing the fingers of his scarred hand. Rocking forward onto the balls of his feet, he counted the flowers. It was easier than thinking about traumas long past.

“There’s fourteen full-size bouquets,” Jimmy’s voice echoed from the adjacent room, “And two smaller ones, I think,”

Jimmy knew Castiel better than anyone else. Well, almost anyone else.

Footsteps echoed through the quiet room, reverberating in Castiel’s skull. He suppressed the urge to cover his ears with his hands, settling instead for rocking back onto his heels and then forward onto the balls of his feet repeatedly. The repetitive motion was calming.

“Claire and I were gonna visit their graves today. Would you like to join?”

That wasn’t right. They weren’t supposed to visit until the fourteenth. They always went on the fourteenth. Castiel scrunched his nose, brow furrowing.

“Claire’s going out of town with friends tomorrow, just a weekend trip, and she’s not gonna be here for the anniversary,” Jimmy’s voice was soothing, a gentle murmur. He knew Castiel didn’t like it when plans change, and it seemed like he was doing his damned best to keep Castiel from slipping into a meltdown.

The stress of the day weighed on him, filling his head with what felt like cotton and fireworks. A bad combination.

The airport, the flight delays, the plane ride, the car, the conversation with Dean. It was all just too much.

The lights overhead seemed to grow brighter in his eyes, the electricity humming in his ears.

He squeezed his eyes shut, cutting the stimulus off at its source, before turning on his heels and heading to the guest room.

Jimmy didn’t try to follow him.

It took him almost a full hour to calm down enough to speak again. By that time, Claire had returned, stomping into the house with her heavy combat boots. The sound of footsteps didn’t set Castiel off like it had earlier in the day, and he took that as a sign that maybe the worst of his overstimulation bout was over.

He made his way back into the kitchen, absentmindedly counting floral arrangements as he passed them.

“Okay,” He said simply. Jimmy had his hands full of flower vases.

“Okay?”

Castiel stifled a sigh.

“Okay, I’ll go with you,”

Jimmy’s answering smile was timid, happiness tinged with nervousness. Castiel figured his brother felt compelled to walk on eggshells. That was usually how people responded to episodes like he had displayed earlier.

“Great, we’re heading out in a few minutes. We’ll drop the car off at the shop and then walk the rest of the way,”

Castiel nodded, eyes trailing to the window behind the kitchen sink. It was a sunny day outside, sky wide open and clear the way only Kansas could manage.

The sky in Los Angeles was different, grayer. The edges were always lined with a strange rust tinge, the result of millions of people commuting about their day, pollution so noxious it became visible. Kansas, on the other hand, was different. Bright blue, the color of a robin’s egg. Yellow grass dusted with patches of snow and ice despite the lack of clouds in the sky. It wasn’t that Kansas was more colorful in its scenery than California was, although that was indisputably incorrect. It was that the colors in Kansas were so much more calming. In Los Angeles, everything was bright and loud and aggressively saturated. In Kansas, the colors were muted, a soft promise of something more. His eyes certainly appreciated the break.

He was honest enough with himself to admit that he had missed it.

* * *

Lawrence, Kansas didn’t have much in the way of communal spaces. There was the old park, a few government buildings, and a recreational center. That was it.

Because of the lack of public space, the park was almost never empty, despite it’s proximity to one of the few other public spaces in the town – the cemetery.

Dean liked the park, even with the looming spectres of headstones lingering in the distance. It was calming, easy. Kids played on the jungle gym, moms gossiped on the benches, teens smoked under the tennis court bleachers. There was a rhyme and rhythm to the way things worked at the park, one that was easily understandable by everyone who went there.

It was also within walking distance of the mechanic shop, which meant that it made for a fantastic lunch spot.

It was a chilly day outside, colder than he had thought it would be when he left. Still, it beat the cramped closet of a breakroom at Bobby’s shop. He tightened his scarf around his neck and pulled his gloves more firmly onto his hands as he sat down at a worn-down picnic table tucked behind the restrooms. The spot was the best one for days like this, with the building providing a buffer from the icy breeze. Still, it afforded him a direct view of the cemetery, and the sight depressed him a little.

His own mother was buried there, right next to Dean’s old man.

Mary Winchester had died when Dean was a child, just four years old. His brother, Sammy, had been no more than a baby. It had been a freak accident. At least, that’s how the firefighter captain had described it: a freak accident. A live wire sparked at just the wrong time and Mary Winchester had gone up in smoke.

They hadn’t found much to bury beyond her charred bones, no other physical reminder’s of her had survived the house’s destruction, save for a single photograph Dean’s father had carried out in his wallet that night.

John Winchester had carried that damned photo with him every day for the rest of his life. When he died, Dean kept nothing of him, save the photograph.

He watched the cemetery as he ate his lunch, eyes tracking ever slight movement. He wasn’t really sure what he was looking for. Maybe a ghost, maybe a griever. He would’ve settled for anything.

That was, until _anything_ strolled right up to the gates of the cemetery, wrapped in an oversized, tan trenchcoat and flanked by an advert salesman and teenage biker wanna-be.

Fuck, what was Cas doing here?

Oh, shit.

_Oh, shit._

Dean scrambled to check his phone. There was no way. It couldn’t have been.

He sighed in relief when he saw that it was still the twelfth of December. Two more days. He still had time to pick up flowers for the Novak’s grave.

He did it every year. A dozen white lilies laid on the graves of the people whose deaths he felt directly responsible for. With everything happening this year, between Eileen’s pregnancy and Sam’s school and Dean’s own work schedule, he had almost forgotten. Thank God he hadn’t.

He never let Cas know it was him leaving the flowers, although Cas probably wondered who the mystery mourner was. It was private, an apology between him, God, and his ex-boyfriend’s parents that he left under the cover of the early morning gloom. He’d have to pick up flowers tomorrow.

He wondered what Cas was doing here now, though. Cas was nothing if not ornery about routine. Dean was pretty sure it was an autism thing, a quirk that just helped make Cas who he was. It wasn’t like him to visit his parents grave two days early. Hell, it wasn’t like him to do anything early. Or late, for that matter. He always did it right on time, every time, at the same time. That was how he did things.

So why was he early?

He watched the trio as they progressed through the rows of headstones, vases and floral arrangements clutched in their hands. Even from where Dean sat, he could see the furrow in Cas’ brow, the way his eyes squinted like they did when he was lost in thought. Knowing him, he probably was lost in thought. Pensive, adorable bastard.

He didn’t realize how long he had been staring until his phone’s alarm went off, signaling time to head back to Bobby’s. The ringtone was sharp, jarring against the otherwise serene ambiance of the park.

Cas’ head snapped up, searching for the source of the intrusion. Dean scrambled to turn his phone off.

He didn’t have to meet Cas’ gaze to know what his face looked like. His head was probably tilted at that angle he always cocked it to when he was confused, blue eyes squinted, lips pursed. When they had been together, Dean would egg Cas on into making that face on purpose.

Now, from across the park, with a cemetery in the way, the image sent a punch rocking through his gut. Fuck, he could not believe he had just interrupted Cas’ yearly trip to honor the death of his fucking parents.

Shoving the remainder of his lunch back into his bag, he scurried off, desperate to get away from Cas.

* * *

Castiel watched as Dean rushed off. He wasn’t quite sure why Dean felt the need to rush away like that. He should’ve taken his time to carefully pack his things away before leaving. It would’ve meant he was less likely to misplace any of his belongings. That would’ve been the logical thing, at least.

Jimmy cleared his throat. When Castiel met his eyes, his brother cocked an eyebrow before gesturing to the graves in front of them. Claire and Jimmy had already laid their flowers down in front of the headstones, they were just waiting on Castiel to add his to the mix.

He looked at the joint headstone, shared between his mother and father, Naomi on one side and Michael on the other.

 _Beloved Mother, Beloved Father_ , their respective epitaphs read. Castiel could’ve laughed.

He wasn’t sure why he continued to come here every year. Hell, he wasn’t sure why he ever came here in the first place. He and his parents had never gotten along. They had never truly understood him. Sure, his autism probably had something to do that. He’d be stupid to deny it. Still, he couldn’t help but think it probably went deeper than that. He wasn’t the child they had wanted. Jimmy had been. He sometimes wondered if they’d have been happier if only Jimmy had been born. They’d certainly still be alive if that were the case.

Jimmy had been the golden child to Castiel’s scapegoat. In their parents’ eyes, Jimmy was the outspoken one, the extrovert with the world at his fingertips. Castiel was the hindrance to their perfect life, the flaw in what could’ve been flawless. Castiel had often compared himself to Hephaestus, the son of Zeus just waiting to be thrown from Mount Olympus.

His parents’ social status in the community hadn’t helped things either. The devoted pastor and his wife. In small-town Kansas, being a man of God carried weight. Being a messenger of God? Even more so.

It was part of why people still brought them flowers every year. Christians were a superstitious bunch, always devoted and faithful, doing everything they could to get a leg up in the afterlife. Castiel remembered when he had been like that, too.

Claire’s voice broke through his thoughts.

“So, if you could choose any way to die, how would you do it?”

Jimmy’s eyes widened to the size of some of the memorial plaques lining the ground.

“Claire Novak!”

She made a face that looked a lot like an apology, but Castiel knew it probably wasn’t.

“What, I’m just asking?”

Castiel honestly wasn’t sure what was so offensive about the question. They were in a cemetery. Wasn’t death a natural topic of discussion?

“Personally,” Castiel began, voice quiet, “I’d take anything sudden. Something where I don’t know I’m dying until I’m dead,” He remembered what it was like to expect death. He didn’t want to ever experience that again. He rubbed at the graft scars on his wrist.

Jimmy worked his jaw, eyeing Castiel as he chewed over his thoughts. Castiel was pretty sure he was just trying to figure out whether to nip the conversation in the bud or not.

Claire, on the other hand, jumped at the chance to discuss the macabre.

“I think I’d want to die doing something cool. Badass. Maybe getting gunned down while I’m robbing a bank,”

Even Castiel caught the humor in her words.

“Claire,” Jimmy’s voice was a stark warning, trailing off as he stared at the grave in front of them.

“Oh, come on, Dad, loosen up,”

“I’m sorry, am I being a little too somber for the cemetery?” Jimmy’s voice was tight.

It was hard for Castiel to remember sometimes that Jimmy had actually had a good relationship with their parents. As willing as he was to be flexible about their visits here, the act of visiting their graves still held more emotional weight for Jimmy than it did Castiel.

He watched as Jimmy bit back words that rested on the tip of his tongue.

Claire, on the other hand, did not seem to notice.

“I bet I can guess how you wouldn’t want to die,”

Oh, this wasn’t going to be good. Why was Claire egging Jimmy on like this?

“Claire…” Castiel warned, quietly.

She ignored him.

“I’d say you probably wouldn’t want to go out behind the wheel, huh?”

“Claire!” Jimmy snapped at her.

Both Claire and Castiel shrank back.

Jimmy rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, taking a calming breath. Before he got the chance to say anything, Claire turned on her heel and stalked off, obviously annoyed at having been yelled at by her father.

Jimmy was quiet for a few moments, hand pinched to the bridge of his nose. When he finally spoke, he spoke with the voice of a man who had been grieving for the better part of the last thousand years, bone weary and ready to be laid to rest himself.

“I can’t wait for her to be out of this phase,”

“What phase?” Castiel wasn’t sure if this conversation was a good idea.

“This whole,” Jimmy waved a hand uselessly in front of him, “asshole schtick,”

“Ah,” Castiel said, thinking about how she had texted him a photo of Dean earlier that very day. Had she teased him before snapping it? If this behavior was common enough lately for Jimmy to be tired of it, then it was very likely he wasn’t the only one on the receiving end of her actions. The thought made him frustrated. He didn’t want to Dean to be the butt of anyone’s joke, even if it was just a joke in the head of a sixteen-year-old girl.

With a sigh, Jimmy turned and began to wander off in the direction Claire had disappeared to. His gait was much slower, a quiet stroll compared to her angry stomping. Castiel followed him, and together, they made their way back across town.

It wasn’t a far walk, maybe a mile or so, but they stretched it out as much as they could.

An hour later, and less than a hundred feet away from the front door of their house, Jimmy stopped short.

“She’s right, you know?” He asked, eyes a thousand miles away.

“About what?”

“A car accident. That would be my last pick if I had the choice,”

That wasn’t what Castiel had been expecting him to say.

“Why?”

Jimmy’s eyes grew even more distant, cloudy and exhausted.

“I saw how you were after you survived. I saw what happened to you. I saw Mom and Dad’s bodies,” He hesitated, before adding, “I can’t imagine a scarier way to go,”

Castiel didn’t respond, just watched the clouds in his brother’s face shift and warp.

Without another word, Jimmy went inside, leaving Castiel alone with his thoughts. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyways i still refuse to edit my drafts, especially when they took this much fuckin energy to write

There were a lot of things Dean loved about his house.

He loved the faded yellow paint, and the way it seemed to blend into the yellow winter grass when the light was just right. He loved how he could walk along the length of his property line and never run into another living soul. He loved how the Kansas River bent and snaked across his land, and the way the willowy trees lined its banks.

What he did not like, however, was the physics of the river bend.

On an almost weekly basis, he had to put on his mud boots, grab his trash picker, and pluck bits and pieces of debris from the river bank that were deposited on the edge of a particularly rough bend in the river’s path. It was hard work, sweaty in the summer, and slippery, potentially deadly work in the winter. Slipping into a swift-moving, ice-cold river in the middle of a Midwest winter? Not a good idea. Plus, there was no telling where the next river deposit point was. He could get dragged for miles and no one would know where to find him.

Shrugging the thoughts away, he continued to methodically stab his way through the icy mud, cursing under his breath every time he so much as thought he lost his balance. Hard work, indeed.

Dean wasn’t unused to hard work. Hell, he’d practically grown up a hard worker under his father’s thumb. He still had nightmares about long days spent working side-by-side with John, learning the mechanics of each and every car that came into the family’s shop.

The shop that had gone belly-up just a few years after Dean’s mother had died.

His mind idly fixated on his mother as he continued to pick up trash, not really outright focusing on anything about her in particular. It was something he liked to do when he had to muddle his way through anything mildly unpleasant. Her vague memory offered warmth, a glow in his chest that very few other things could, and that warmth was enough to cut through the icy wind chill and river water splashing his legs.

She had been a kind woman, from what he could remember. Sarcastic, funny, sweet. A little prone to losing her temper, but quick to apologize.

She had died when Dean was ten. Sammy had been six.

Dean hadn’t visited her grave in a while. Maybe he should pick some up while he was getting flowers for the Novaks’ later?

And that was it. The segue his brain was looking for.

He generally found it difficult to go a long period of time without thinking about Cas. On a good day, he could make it a few hours. On a bad one, it was every waking minute. The most innocuous things would remind him of the goofy kid he would play tag with while growing up, or the gangly the teenager he had crushed on for years.

Or worse, the young man he had been when Dean had fallen in love with him.

It was generally worse during this time of the year, what with the constant pressure to both avoid his ex-boyfriend, and the burning desire to seek him out and demand an explanation.

Eight fucking years and he never got a reason why Cas said no. He couldn’t pretend like it didn’t hurt still, like he had been stabbed and never removed the knife. He just kept bleeding around the rusting blade.

A phone call interrupted his thoughts. He bit back a curse and he adjusted the trash picker and trash bag in his hands and pulled off one glove with his teeth.

“H’llo?” He answered the phone, voice muffled around his glove.

“Hey, Dean,” Jimmy’s chipper voice came over the speaker, “Remember how I asked for a bit of help with the parade preparation?”

Dean was pretty sure Jimmy hadn’t just asked for help. Jimmy continued without hesitation.

“I was wondering if I could run some ideas by you, and – if you’ve got time, and you like the ideas – we could meet up today to discuss the details in person?”

Dean suppressed a sigh, pulling the muddy glove out of his mouth. It was his day off, the one day a week he got to rest and relax. Granted, picking trash out of a muddy, icy riverbank wasn’t exactly relaxing, but it was certainly better than heading into town to grab a coffee with his ex-boyfriend’s brother.

Fuck, he needed to stop thinking of Cas as his ex-boyfriend. The man was his own damn person, after all.

After a moment, he replied, “Hit me with it,” attempting to make his voice sound light and teasing. It barely worked.

Jimmy launched into his elevator pitch.

“So I was thinking,” His voice held the excitement of a child about to tell their parents about a very harebrained scheme, “that it would be fun to host a fireworks display,”

Dean’s relief at the simplicity of the idea was instantaneous. His suspicion was a little delayed.

“Why would you need my help with a firework show?”

If Dean could see Jimmy’s face, he was pretty sure he would see that shit-eating grin Claire liked to put on right before pulling some asshole prank.

“Because,” Jimmy’s excitement was palpable through the phone, “I want to take boat tours out onto the river, and I need your help getting them set up. There’s a whole set of old rowing boats from the high school that I want to get set up with motors so people can steer themselves, and I th-“

Dean cut Jimmy off.

“Dude, that’s a horrible idea,”

“It is not,” Jimmy formal inflection reminded Dean that, despite the differences, Jimmy and Cas were still technically twins.

It was incredibly difficult to not call Jimmy an idiot.

“Jim, we’re gonna be lucky if the weather gets over thirty degrees, and you know the water’s gonna be even colder than that. A bunch of drunken idiots driving around rickety boats that weren’t originally built with motors in mind down a freezing river? Where anyone could tip over and fall in? That’s a recipe for disaster. Remember what happened when Chuck tried to go canoeing last February?”

Jimmy didn’t have to reply. Dean knew he remembered. Everyone in Lawrence remembered.

Chuck Shurley, washed-up-romance-novelist turned town drunk and owner of the local bookstore, had gotten it into his head one night that he wanted to get a better view of the moon. Connect with his muse, or some stupid mumbo jumbo like that. Dean was pretty sure he just tossed back a few too many rum-and-cokes. He had stolen a canoe from one of his neighbors and paddled it onto the river, attempting to find that perfect angle for viewing when his canoe flipped, sending his under water.

He had washed up on Dean’s riverbend twelve hours later, unconscious, and almost frozen to death. Hell, Dean had thought Chuck _was_ dead when he stumbled across the body that morning.

Chuck hadn’t been within a mile of the river since.

“Look,” Jimmy’s voice was quieter, the tone he used to take with Cas when he was on the verge of one of his meltdowns, “I really think this is a good idea. I think we can make it work. Why don’t you meet me down at the coffee shop on main, the one next to Chuck’s store? We can hash out the details there. Does noon work?” He didn’t give Dean a chance to find a way out of the meeting.

Dean sighed, exasperation lacing his breath. Damn Novaks.

“Yeah, okay, I’ll see you there,”

When the phone call ended, he stared at the glove in his hand for a moment before slipping it on and returning to picking up trash, spearing an advertisement for men’s work suits and shoving it into his waste bag.

* * *

Claire’s text was simple, and it cut straight to the point. Castiel appreciated it.

_Can you come pick me up? I think dad’s meeting is gonna run long, and I need to get home and pack before I head out today._

He fucking hated driving. Had for years. Still, he could put up with it in short bursts. It’s not like he had a bicycle here, and even if he did, he didn’t think Claire would particularly enjoy riding on the handlebars.

Castiel knew there was no point in asking Claire why she couldn’t just walk home, even though the coffee shop was less than a mile from the house. His niece was stubborn enough that when she decided that she wanted something done her way, doing it any other way would be a personal affront. Besides, he trusted her enough to assume she had her reasons for being picked up. Maybe Jimmy wouldn’t let her leave without an excuse?

He grabbed Jimmy’s rental car keys off the hook near the door and shrugged on his overcoat. Its thin canvas material wasn’t exactly enough to block out the Midwest winter wind, but it was better than nothing. He knew he should really invest in some better winter gear, but if he was only spending two weeks out of the year here and the rest in Los Angeles, it really wasn’t worth it to splurge.

It’s not that he was strapped for cash. In fact, it was rather the opposite. He had gotten rather lucky with his writing. It wasn’t everyday that an author published a best-seller. It was even less common for an author to have several best-selling novels that afforded them the luxury to work on their stories full-time. Castiel was even rarer than that. He had more money than he could use in a single lifetime.

Jimmy made more than enough money at his job, and he refused to let Castiel give him any financial support. Not even for Claire.

So Castiel’s money sat in a bank account, just accruing interest and dust.

He could’ve gone and bought himself an entire wardrobe just for his visit to Lawrence. He knew people who bought entire wardrobes only to toss the clothes out after one wear. Hell, his agent was like that. She always scoffed when Castiel refused to buy new clothes for meetings or interviews. She almost had a conniption when he tried to wear a flannel he’d had since high school for his TV interview with Conan. In the end, he hadn’t worn the flannel, and had opted to just borrow something from the show’s wardrobe team. It was probably for the best, after all. The flannel had been a gift from Dean.

He was wearing it now, actually, layered under his trenchcoat. It was one of the few pieces of cold weather clothing he owned, despite being borderline threadbare. There was a patch on the cuff from his feeble attempts to fix a hole that had formed years before, and he didn’t have it in his heart to take it to a tailor. He didn’t want to risk them messing it up. It meant to much to him.

He remembered when Dean had given it to him, how Dean had shrugged it off his shoulders on a particularly and unexpectedly brisk autumn night and wrapped it around Castiel like a blanket. Castiel had refused to give it back.

Dean had kissed him for the first time that night.

It wasn’t a far drive to the coffee shop, just a few turns and a stop sign away. Castiel sighed as he parked the car, shoving thoughts of Dean and kissing into a box in the back of his mind.

The door jingled as he entered, a set of brightly colored Christmas jingle bells tied to the handle tinkling as he pushed it open. From the front door, he could see Claire sunk down into the plush cushions of a low set couch. Next to her, Jimmy sat talking with someone just out of Castiel’s line of sight. Jimmy looked annoyed, almost, his hands gesturing wildly around as if attempting to punctuate whatever point he was making.

Castiel made his way over to the bar to order himself a drink to-go.

The stranger Jimmy was talking to came into view.

Dean.

Castiel’s heart stopped in his chest.

* * *

The coffee shop was small, like every other place in Lawrence, with cracked, concrete flooring and a menu full of drinks that would’ve been trendy twenty years ago. It’s main selling point was not coffee, but the plethora of mismatched couches and arm chairs that guests could fully curl up in if they wanted, all tucked into various little alcoves to give their occupants some semblance of privacy.

Dean sat awkwardly perched on the edge of a particularly plush loveseat, afraid that if he leaned too far back, he’d never be able to stand up again. The strain of the position put a crick in his lower back, and he felt the muscle twinge any time he so much as slightly shifted his weight.

Jimmy sat across from his, sharing a couch with Claire, who looked as if she’d rather be anywhere else on the planet than a coffee shop with her dad and her pseudo-uncle.

“I’m telling you, Dean, it’ll be fine. I just need you to install the damn engines. I’ll pay you extra, if that’s what you need,”

Dean wasn’t sure what Jimmy wasn’t understanding. It wasn’t a pay thing or a skill level thing. It was a safety thing. There was no way in hell he’d set up a series of death traps on an icy river. It wasn’t happening.

Before Dean could respond though, Claire interrupted him with an excited shout.

“Cas!”

Dean’s head swiveled, following her eyes.

There he was.

Cas was standing awkwardly by the bar, his blue eyes wide with surprise and what Dean assumed was discomfort. The poor dude looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

Dean didn’t blame him. He felt the same way.

Claire hopped up, light and spry in a way Dean didn’t think should be physically possible in a pair of Doc Martens.

“Well, I’ll see the two of you later. My ticket out of here just arrived and I’m cashing it in,”

Jimmy gaped at her.

“Now, hold on,” He reached out to grab her arm, narrowly snagging the edge of her sleeve cuff, “Have Cas come over here. He needs to say hi. Politeness and all that,”

Dean might’ve been crazy, but he was pretty damned sure he saw a hint of mischief in Jimmy’s eyes. He turned to look at Claire, and saw the same glint in hers. Fuck.

Claire bounced off, grabbed Cas’ sleeve and dragged him back over to where their little trio was sitting before pushing him lightly into the seat beside Dean. He felt the weight shift the cushions on the loveseat. His hands were shaking, a response he always had when he was near Cas. He wrapped both of them around his coffee mug, hoping to hide his nerves.

The loveseat was smaller than Dean had initially realized, and he cursed himself internally for not opting to sit in a larger chair. Cas’ oversized trenchcoat was brushing Dean’s leg, sending sparks straight to the base of his spine.

He looked at Castiel. Castiel resolutely did not look at him. There was a tense set to his jaw, a muscle locked in place that ticked every time he swallowed.

“Hey, Cas! We weren’t expecting you! Did you order a drink?” Jimmy’s voice was borderline angelic in its innocence. Dean suppressed a glare. What game was Jimmy playing at?

Cas shook his head.

Before Dean could stop himself, he was on his feet.

“I’ll get you one,” He said quickly, the words leaving him in a rush of breathlessness. He didn’t have a set plan; all he knew was he needed to get _away_. He walked away before Cas had a chance to say no.

He regretted his selfish generosity the moment he got to the bar.

“Oh my god, is that Cas? Sitting with you?!” The chipper voice of his best-friend-slash-part-time-barista greeted him.

Dean glared at Charlie, hoping his eyes were properly conveying the _please, shut the fuck up_ message he was attempting to send her. She smiled, eyes teasing, as she tugged on one of her copper braids.

“Yes, it is,” He tried to keep his voice low, though he knew it didn’t matter. The Novaks were too far away to hear him speak over all the din in the coffee shop, “Now can you make something super sweet and sugary. Tons of whipped cream and chocolate sauce. Not too much caffeine,”

Dean hoped Cas’ coffee opinions hadn’t changed too much since he’d last bought him a drink.

Charlie attempted to bait him into gossip for the entire time she made Cas’ drink, sending him little teasing glances and telling stories about everyone they knew in Lawrence. She was halfway through a tale about some cute girl she had met in Kansas City a few weeks earlier when she finally finished the monstrosity that was Cas’ drink.

It was an ostentatious thing, chocolatey and covered in whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles. Dean quirked an eyebrow at Charlie.

“What? You said you wanted sweet,” Charlie’s voice was all sugar.

“Yeah, I said ‘sweet’ not ‘diabetes in liquid form’,”

Charlie rolled her eyes, and waved Dean away with a hand.

“Get back to your boy toy, I’m busy,”

Dean glanced around the shop, pointedly looking at the lack of a line for orders.

Charlie huffed.

“Fine, I’m about to be busy. I need to prep for the rush,”

“Dude, it’s like, one in the afternoon,”

She glared daggers at him before shooing him away.

When Dean sat down next to Cas again, he was very careful to sit as far away as he could and placed the coffee-milkshake drink on the table in front of him instead of handing it directly to him.

“There you go,” He said gruffly, trying and failing to not look at Cas.

There was surprise etched into the lines of his face, eyes wide and staring at Dean.

If Dean weren’t so frazzled from the whole situation, he’d say that there was warmth in them, too.

“Thank you, Dean,”

Goddamn, the man had a voice on him. Low and rough, it was all worn leather and gravel and a number of other things Dean couldn’t think of when his head was spinning like it was at that very moment.

“No problem,” He all but squeaked.

Was he losing his mind, or was there the tiniest hint of a smile on Cas’ lips?

Fuck, he shouldn’t be staring at Cas’ lips.

He wrenched his eyes away, focusing instead on his own drink on the table in front of them.

“Well,” Claire’s voice was so self-satisfied, Dean could’ve slapped her, “this is an interesting turn of events,”

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Cas’ head quirk to the side.

“Why is it interesting?”

Dean cut Claire off before she could respond.

“Oh, um,” He wracked his brain for an innocuous answer, “Well, you’re just in time. To help, I mean,”

He heard Cas turn to look at him.

“Help me convince Dean to make some stuff for the parade,” Jimmy cut in. Dean didn’t like the look in the man’s eyes. He knew he had Dean cornered. All he had to do was convince Cas, and then Dean would be an easy sale. Dean was starting to understand why Jimmy made for such a good salesman. He knew how to set up the board game to best fit his own pieces. Had he been planning this all along?

“Oh, come on, Dad, I asked Cas to come pick me up, not join in on the meeting,” Claire whined.

“It’ll be just a few minutes,” Jimmy waved her concerns away, “Now, Cas, what do you think about a fireworks show?”

Dean guffawed.

“Dude, have you met your brother?” Shit, that was rude, “I just mean – “

Castiel interrupted him.

“He means, I hate fireworks. You know that, Jimmy,”

“Okay fine, let me rephrase,” Jimmy steepled his hands together, resting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward, “What do you think the town would think of a fireworks show?”

Cas considered that for a moment. Dean watched as his eyebrows knit together and his lips pursed in concentration, before the look cleared and Cas spoke again.

“I think,” He began hesitantly, “That the town would probably enjoy a fireworks display,”

Jimmy’s eyes sharpened, a hawk spotting its prey.

“Great! Now, wouldn’t you agree that fireworks are better when you have the best view possible of them?”

Castiel considered his words.

“I think,” he put a finger on his chin, “That most things are better when you have the best possible view of them,”

Dean didn’t miss the way Cas’ eyes drifted to him when he said that.

Jimmy’s lips quirked, a smile hiding just behind his eyes.

“So, if I told you that the best place to view a fireworks show was from a boat on the river, you would agree that it would be a worthwhile endeavor to set up a boat?”

“Well, when you put it like that…”

“And,” Jimmy pressed on, “that if you didn’t do that, it would be a waste of both money and fireworks, since you didn’t get the full experience,”

“I - ,” Cas cut himself off, “Yes, I would agree that that’s the logical outcome of the givens you’ve listed,”

Dean’s heart sank. Cas was going to ask him to build the stupid boats, and Dean wouldn’t be able to say no. How could he say no to Cas?

“However,” Cas interrupted Dean’s spiraling, “If Dean has said no to your request, I’m sure he has a good reason,”

Dean’s heart soared, as Jimmy’s smile faltered.

“Oh come on, Cas, all I want is a few boats set up on the river so people can watch the show!”

“No,” Dean corrected, “you want rowboats to be converted with an engine so that people can steer out onto an icy river in the middle of winter to watch the show. It’s a death trap. I’m not doing it,”

Jimmy glowered at him.

“You’re not the only mechanic around, you know. I can ask any of them to do this for me,”

“One,” Dean ticked up a finger, “I’m the best mechanic around. Two,” another finger, “Any mechanic worth his salt will turn you down when he finds out why you wanna do this,”

He tried his best to sell the bluff. In all honesty, he was pretty sure most mechanics in the area wouldn’t bat an eye at the request, especially with the amount of cash they could make off of it.

Dean was lucky in that respect. Bobby paid him well enough that he didn’t have to worry about taking every hare-brained job that came his way. He got paid enough money that he was allowed to have standards. Including this one. Most mechanics in the area wouldn’t be in the same boat, so to speak.

“Then I’ll go to Kansas City, see if I can find anyone there who’ll do it!” Jimmy’s voice was getting heated. Cas stiffened next to Dean. Too late, Dean remembered Cas’ issues with raised voices. Jimmy, it seemed, did not notice.

“Honestly, man, I just don’t get why you won’t do this. I’ve already told people about it, and they’re excited at the idea. They’ll be disappointed if you don’t follow through with the mechanic stuff,”

Dean snapped before he could stop himself.

“That’s your problem, Jim. I’m not the one who promised them the fuckin’ rodeo. You did. Deal with it,”

Jimmy stared at him, irritation evident in his face. Dean’s body felt like a live wire, ready to set something ablaze at any moment.

Beside him, Castiel rubbed his hand absently at the junction of his wrist and forearm where his graft scars were. It was a nervous tic he had developed a few weeks after his car accident, and he only did it when he was getting overwhelmed.

The three of them jumped when Claire’s ringtone blared, a heavy guitar riff that could’ve made even Dean’s ears bleed.

She answered it quickly.

“Hey, yeah,” Her voice was hushed, “I have to get home and pack first but I’ll be on my way soon, I promise,” She shot daggers at her father with her eyes, “Yeah, see you soon. Bye,” She ended the call.

“Dad, I really have to go. Now,”

He sighed, but Cas spoke before Jimmy could.

“I’ve got the car ready out front. Let’s go,”

It only took one look at Jimmy’s upset face for Dean to make a stupid, impulsive decision.

“I’ll walk with you guys,”

* * *

Castiel didn’t blame Dean for wanting to get away from Jimmy. He did blame Dean for making the walk to the car awkward.

Dean was one of the few people Castiel could get any semblance of a read on. It wasn’t perfect – his understanding of people’s quirks and motivations never was – but it was better than it was with most people. Maybe it was because of how long Castiel had known him. Maybe it was because Dean wore his heart and feelings on his sleeve, a proud badge of honor that had been hard-won over the years. Whatever the reason, Castiel knew Dean was pissed right now. Rightfully so, after all.

Still, it didn’t make the walk any less uncomfortable. This was the closest to _alone_ the two of them had been in years.

Since that night on the tennis court, Castiel realized with a jolt.

Castiel still remembered the look on Dean’s face when he’d said no. How his eyes had fallen, his hand with the ring in it drooping. It haunted Castiel’s nightmares to this day.

“Sorry you had to see that,” Dean’s voice was quiet. Castiel almost jumped. They didn’t do this. They didn’t talk. This wasn’t normal.

“I’m sorry Jimmy acted like that,” Castiel wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to say, but judging by the way Dean’s shoulders relaxed, it couldn’t have been entirely wrong, “He gets stressed when things don’t go his way,”

Dean smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Castiel took a sip of his drink.

Dean eyed him, and reached out to touch Castiel’s nose, wiping something away. He froze a moment later, as if realizing what he had just done.

“Uh, sorry,” He stammered, “You had whipped cream on your… I just… Sorry,” He finished lamely.

Castiel almost smiled.

“It’s okay, Dean,”

Dean released a jittery breath.

“Can the two of you stop flirting? I need to get home _now_ ,” Claire snapped.

Castiel blushed.

“I’ll, uh, see you later,” Dean turned on his heel and walked off in the opposite direction. Castiel watched him for a moment longer before unlocking the car and climbing in behind the driver’s seat.

“Well,” Claire said after a long moment, “That went better than I expected it to,”

“What did you expect?”

“I don’t know,” Claire shrugged, eyes on the road in front of them, “Yelling, screaming, declarations of love long abandoned. The usual,”

Castiel wasn’t quite sure what was _usual_ about overdramatic love confessions, but he pushed on.

“My life isn’t a soap opera, you know,”

“Of course, it is,” Claire twirled a lock of hair around her finger, “Why else would you write about it,”

Castiel’s jaw fell to the floor.

“How did you know about that?”

“Dad told me,”

Of course, he had. Leave it to Jimmy to expose the raw underside of Castiel’s vulnerability to a teenager going through – in his own words – an asshole phase.

“Is that why you had me come pick you up?”

“Duh,”

Castiel groaned.

“Claire, you can’t do that,”

“Do what?”

If Castiel didn’t know any better, she’d sound like the perfect picture of innocence. He knew better.

“You can’t just play with people’s lives like that. It’s mean. I’m a person. Dean’s a person. We need to be treated like people,”

She scoffed.

“Yeah, right, like you get to be the one to tell me I have to treat people like people,”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what it fuckin’ sounds like, Cas! You treat people like characters. Hell, people _are_ characters to you. You listen to them, analyze them, and then write them down in your little books. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about Dean and Jensen,”

Castiel winced. Jensen had been the main romantic interest of _Evermore_ , and unfortunately, he’d also been heavily based on Dean. The story had been similar to his own, childhood best friends to lovers to exes. Except there had been one crucial difference in _Evermore_. In the book, the jilted couple reunited and lived happily ever after. That wasn’t happening between him and Dean. Jensen got the girl in the end. Castiel did not get the boy.

Life wasn’t a storybook, despite how much he wished it was.

Stories were easier to understand. They had moving parts that locked and fit together perfectly, a puzzle where each narrative device added a piece. When you were done, you could go back to the beginning and appreciate the whole structure for what it was.

Real life wasn’t like that, though. What would be called a plot hole in one of his books was just drama in real life. Just messiness that he’d never be able to straighten up with a rewrite or organize by inserting a new scene. It would always be messy. He had no control over it.

He sighed.

“Please stay out of my relationship with Dean,”

She cooed.

“Oooo, so you and Dean _do_ have a relationship then,”

“No, I just – Ugh, Claire, please. Please stay out of my non-relationship with Dean. He’s a good person and I don’t want him to get hurt,”

She rolled her eyes, her lower lip pouted out in an almost pitiful display.

“That’s bullshit. It’s not Dean you’re worried about, it’s yourself,” She paused for a second, chewing over her next few words, “Besides, you’re the one who hurt him in the first place,”

Her words stabbed him in the heart. If he weren’t driving, he would’ve started rubbing at his eyes or tugging at his hair. As it stood, he settled for jiggling his left foot up and down, anything to release a little of that pent up energy that was beginning to stack up in his body.

Mercifully, the house came into view, and Castiel was saved from having to respond. Claire had the car door thrown open before Castiel had even slid the car into park, an action that nearly gave him a heart attack.

As he watched her figure enter the house, he sighed, resting his head on the steering wheel.

Even if she was an asshole about it, Claire was right. Hell, maybe she was right because she was willing to be an asshole about it. Whatever.

He squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to think about this right now.

* * *

“Look, man, all I’m saying is, it can’t be that bad of an idea,”

Dean gaped at his brother.

“Sammy, would you let Eileen get on one of those death traps?”

Eileen interrupted him.

“He doesn’t let me do anything,” She signed as she spoke, mostly for Sam’s learning experience. He had his eyes trained on her hands as she made the motions, “He’s not my boss,”

Dean laughed.

“I know, I know, you wear the pants here. What I mean is, would you trust those boats?”

Sam grimaced.

“No,” He signed alongside his speech, tapping his index finger against his thumb, “I wouldn’t,”

Eileen waved a hand at him, before tapping both her index and middle fingers against her thumb, the rest of her fingers curled in towards her palm.

“No,” She said as she tapped. Sam repeated the motion.

“No,”

“Alright, I’m gonna skip on the ASL lessons for now,” Dean griped. He knew he was far behind where he should be in his studying, and he didn’t want to be made to feel guilty about it while he was in the middle of bitching about something else. He’d have Eileen teach him some new vocab later, when he was less irritable.

“Sorry,” Sam was sheepish, “I’m just trying to be prepared,”

Dean immediately felt guilty. Eileen was insistent that their child be able to sign with both parents, and with its uncle. It was a totally fair thing for her to ask for, and Dean was doing his best to comply with the request, as was Sam. Still, language just wasn’t something he was good at. What only took Sam twenty minutes to learn could sometimes take Dean a full day. Still, he was trying. He just… needed a little more time.

Sam had come a long way since he and Eileen had started dating, but he still struggled with basic vocabulary sometimes. He was such a pushover that Dean honestly wasn’t surprised “no” was a sign he struggled with. Either way, he was leagues better than Dean was.

“Either way, I’m not making the stupid boats,”

“You know,” Sam started, voice hesitant, “If you don’t make them, he’s probably just gonna find someone else,”

“Yeah, that’s what he told me,”

“What are you gonna do?” Eileen asked, hands moving in signs that Dean didn’t recognize. Sam’s eyes stayed on her the whole time.

“I don’t know,” Dean rubbed at his eyes, “I think I’m gonna have to keep blueballin’ him until he runs out of time to contract anyone else. Maybe I can text him and say I’m interested in seeing the boats, at least. Offer a potential compromise, and then back out at the last minute,”

“Okay, one, gross,” Sam’s pulled a face, “Two, that’s a dick move,”

“I’d rather be a dick than a murderer,”

“Don’t you think that’s a little overdramatic,”

“Why, yes, Sammy, I do happen to think murdering a bunch of people because of one idiot’s harebrained idea is a little overdramatic, thank you for noticing,”

Sam made what Dean liked to call his Bitch Face. His eyes went slack, mouth pursed, nostrils flared. Dean loved egging Sam on into making that expression. It was one of his favorite hobbies.

“I’m just saying,” Sam started, “That maybe, you don’t have to lie about finding a compromise. Maybe – I don’t know – go meet up with him down by the pier and at least scope out the area and see if you can come up with a way to meet in the middle,”

“I can’t compromise with stupid,”

Sam gave up on signing, instead opting to throw his hands in the air in frustration.

“I don’t know how to help you, Dean”

“Maybe I don’t want help,” Dean groused.

“What do you want then?”

Dean smirked.

“A strong, handsome shoulder to cry on,”

“Gross, Dean,”

Sam’s phone rang, cutting the conversation short.

He answered with a _hello_ that was so perky, Dean felt a part of his soul shrivel up and die.

“Yes, okay, we’re on our way right now. Meet you there,”

“Goin’ somewhere?” Dean asked, eyes on Eileen and making sure she could see his lips.

She nodded.

“Meeting some friends at the movies,”

Dean recognized the sign for “movie”, a circular motion of one hand against the flat palm of the other.

“Fair enough, I’ll get out of your hair then,”

“Hang on, wait, Dean,” Sam protested, “Why don’t you come with us?”

He considered it for a moment before deciding that being a fifth wheel just wasn’t something he wanted to do today.

“Nah, I’ll catch you guys later,”

It wasn’t until Dean was behind the wheel of his car that he finally opted to text Jimmy.

_Let’s talk about a compromise. I’ll meet you at the pier tomorrow night after I get out of work._

It would be fucking miserably cold. The weatherman had predicted temperature significantly below freezing. Still, if this is what it took to keep Jimmy from accidentally killing the entire town, he could sacrifice his fingertips and earlobes for half an hour.

His phone buzzed.

_Sounds good, I’ll be there at 7:30._

* * *

The house was turned completely upside down in less than half an hour.

Claire was a whirlwind of destruction, tearing apart organized cabinets and storage bins in her attempts to find the perfect clothes and items to take with her on vacation.

“Where’s my leather jacket?!” She practically shrieked.

Castiel pointed at a mirror, and she looked into it, a guttural shout tearing out of her mouth.

“No! My _other_ leather jacket! The one with the patches all over it!”

Castiel shrugged, fear and amusement warring for dominance in his body. He wasn’t quite sure whether to be scared of her, or to laugh at her antics.

Jimmy, on the other hand, had no such qualms about confronting his daughter.

“Stop making a mess!”

“I can’t help it, Dad! I’ve gotta find my stuff!”

“That’s fine but stop making a fucking mess!”

The shouts echoed down the hallways, gradually getting more and more heated as more words were exchanged.

“I’m running late!”

“Well, you should’ve thought of that before you wait ‘til the last minute to pack!”

Castiel began slinking towards his room, hoping to avoid getting caught in the middle of whatever was going on. He wasn’t an expert on human behavior, but he was pretty sure they were actually fighting about more than just Claire’s packing.

“Oh my God, would you just shut up and let me pack? I don’t need you to lecture me over every little thing I do,”

Jimmy’s frustration was palpable.

“I wouldn’t have to lecture you if you’d just act your age,”

There was a thump as Claire presumably tossed her suitcase open, but otherwise, the house fell silent. Jimmy had crossed a line Claire had drawn in the sand, it seemed.

“Whatever,” Her voice was cold.

“Whatever?” Jimmy didn’t seem to catch the shift in the mood, “Don’t ‘whatever’ me. I don’t have to let you go on this trip,”

“You can’t make me back out now!” Her anger was back, laced with fear.

“Oh yes I can,”

Castiel was pretty sure Jimmy had no idea exactly how little he was helping diffuse the situation. When Claire got like this, it was always easier to just let her be a tornado than it was to try and reign in her energy. She was a lot like Castiel in that way.

A car horn honked outside. Claire’s frenzy increased, and Castiel heard her start tossing random things into her suitcase.

Within moments, she was waltzing past Castiel, almost out the front door. Jimmy caught her by the sleeve.

“Please be safe this week. Have fun,” He smiled, but it was a very half-hearted attempt, “I love you,”

She scoffed.

“Yeah, whatever,”

“I’ll see you in a few days, okay?”

She nodded, eyes distant. Jimmy gave up and released her sleeve.

She didn’t look back once as she left.

When it was just Castiel and Jimmy left standing on the porch, staring down the road at a rapidly disappearing station wagon, Jimmy sighed.

“Asshole phase,”

Castiel gave him an appraising look.

“Don’t you think you’re being a little too hard on her? You’re starting to sound like – “ He cut himself off, not wanting to go down that path with his brother. It was always a sore subject.

“Just like who?”

Castiel bit his lip.

“Just like Dad,”

Jimmy glowered.

“Is that such a bad thing?”

Castiel clarified, “Fine, you’re starting to sound like Dad when he was punishing _me_ ,”

That got Jimmy’s attention.

“Since when is lecturing my daughter the same thing as how Mom and Dad treated you?”

“I’m not saying it is,”

“No, you’re saying it’s _like_ it is,” Jimmy’s voice was hard, “Look, Cas, I know you try really hard to understand her, but honestly, you don’t know the first thing about parenthood. Please stop telling me how to parent my daughter,”

With that, Jimmy went inside, leaving Castiel standing alone on the porch.

All Castiel could think was _Good god, I hope I never have kids_.

* * *

It wasn’t even the ass-crack of dawn yet, and here Dean was, two bouquets of flowers in his hands. A dozen white lilies, and a half-dozen sunflowers. One for the Novaks, and one for Mary Winchester.

Dean visited his mom’s grave first. She was the easier one to talk to.

He told her all about how Cas was back, how Dean felt at the coffee shop the day before, how his heart still skipped a freakin’ beat everytime they made eye contact.

Mary was a good listener, what with being six feet under and all. Dean liked to imagine that they were having a picnic and that if he closed his eyes, she’d be there in her ratty blue jeans and flannel shirts, smiling at him in that teasing way she always had when he was a kid.

He unloaded onto her for a while.

“I don’t know, Mom, I guess I just never realize how much I miss him until I see him again,”

After about an hour of talking to Mary, he said his goodbyes before wandering over to the Novaks’ shared grave.

They were harder to talk to. How do you talk to someone you indirectly killed?

It hadn’t really been his fault. At least, that’s what the sheriff had said. Faulty brake lines in a car could’ve stemmed from any number of things. It could’ve been a manufacturing error, deliberate tampering, improper usage.

Or improper installation.

Dean had never told Cas that he had been the one to do the work on his parents’ car before they had gotten in the accident. He’d never told him about how they had brought it in for some routine maintenance, an oil change and some new brake lines and pads. He hadn’t thought much about it, just did the repairs and sent them on their way.

He didn’t think about it again until he heard the news.

He hadn’t stopped thinking about it since he saw Castiel laying in a hospital bed in the aftermath of the accident.

The lilies were heavy in his hand.

He wasn’t sure when the lilies had become a tradition. _They symbolize innocence_ , the salesgirl had told him the first time he went to shop.

He wasn’t sure if it was his innocence, or theirs. Either way, it was a lie.

A lie he told once a year, every year, on the dot.

As the sun crested the horizon, Dean left the lilies behind on the grave and turned his back on them.

He left his bouquet of lies there on the dirt, all twelve of the buds frosted gold in the pale morning sunlight.

* * *

Castiel wished he knew where the lilies came from.

They showed up every year, just as beautiful and macabre as ever. The ever-present reminder that someone else in town cared enough to show up every year with flowers for his parents. Not flowers for him and Jimmy like the rest of the town did. Just for his parents.

They were a sour reminder that there were people in town who had actually like Michael and Naomi. Not just liked but loved. Loved them enough to hand deliver a bouquet of white lilies every year on the anniversary of their death.

He rolled his eyes, his own bouquet of red roses seemed almost romantic alongside the lilies. Like the pair belonged together.

The first few years, he had thought it was Jimmy leaving the flowers behind. The favored son leaving his parents a lovely gift. When he had brought it up, however, Jimmy had denied it. Castiel knew him well enough to believe him.

He was a little sad to be the only one here today, sad that Jimmy had opted to prepare for his meeting later that night with Dean instead of coming to their parents’ grave. Sad that Claire had gone on vacation instead of tagging along.

Sometimes, he was convinced that he was the only one who found the date worth adhering to.

His parents hadn’t been good people. Sure, in practice they’d been the perfect preacher’s and preacher’s wife who preached love and acceptance. Behind closed doors though?

Castiel still had nightmares about the way they treated him as an openly gay, autistic teenager. It hadn’t ended well.

Still, there were plenty of people of people who looked up to the public image of kindness and goodness that Michael and Naomi had peddled in their lifetimes. Castiel was pretty sure he brought the flowers for those people. The ones who needed to believe that true kindness existed outside of fairy tales and bedtime stories.

Still, he couldn’t be sure. Maybe it was out of his own selfish desire to have a good relationship with his parents. It was easier when they were six feet under. That’s how Dean used to put it, at least. It’s certainly how he’d described his relationship with his dead mother.

Castiel had spent so much of his life trying – and failing – to be the son his parents had wanted. To be Jimmy. He had failed in every way imaginable. His parents had been pillars of the community’s social hierarchy. He was autistic. His parents had been staunchly devoted Christians. He was a gay atheist. His parents had wanted him to follow them down the path of righteousness. He had become a writer with a slight alcohol problem. The list went on.

The only thing he could do successfully was mourn their death every year. It was easier to deal with them when they couldn’t talk back or chastise him for the sloppy way he was dressed or how inappropriate his hair cut and five-o’clock shadow were.

He honestly wasn’t sure if he’d ever loved his parents, sometimes.

He knew for sure that his parents had never loved him.

* * *

Jimmy was already standing on the pier by the time Dean arrived, surveying the river with glittering eyes. He was dressed in probably the worst possible outfit for this occasion, slacks and dress shoes that Dean knew were going to cause a problem if they needed to walk along the shoreline at all. He could already see the mud stains Jimmy was going to have by the time they were done here.

“Dean! Glad to see you!”

The irritation and anger from yesterday had all but vanished, leaving Jimmy a completely different person. Dean was glad to see it. He hadn’t liked the side of Jimmy that had come out at the coffee shop, and he hoped he wouldn’t see it again any time soon.

“Yeah, well, I figured I might as well make sure that you got a good mechanic, since you seem so damned determined to get these fuckin’ boats made,”

He couldn’t decipher the face Jimmy made, something between smugness and irritation.

“Yeah, well, let’s get this thing on the road,”

Jimmy walked up and down the pier, pointing out ideas to Dean about how they could best monopolize the space. He wanted boats lined up on the water and anchored down so they couldn’t be pulled away, and he wanted to shoot the fireworks off from a hill in the distance about a mile upstream. Dean couldn’t deny that the river would be the best place for a view if that was the shooting point, but he still knew it was a damned stupid idea.

Romantic, though. College kids would go nuts for it.

Drunk college kids. Bad idea.

His mind went in circles like that while Jimmy talked, the more romantic side of his brain warring with the much more logical mechanic side.

He spent a good five minutes fantasizing about what it would be like to have Cas sit across from him in one of those boats. How the wind would blow his dark hair around, and the fireworks would flash against his blue eyes. He’d probably bring that stupid overcoat, and it wouldn’t be enough to combat the cold draft blasting off the water, so Dean would have to lend him a jacket or a scarf. He’d lean in as he offered it and plant a kiss right between Cas’ eyebrows on the spot where they crinkled together whenever he made that stupid face Dean loved so much.

Jimmy coughed.

“Did you hear me?”

Dean cleared his throat, uncomfortable at being caught in an unrealistic fantasy.

“No, sorry, what was it you said?”

“I said, let’s go check out the water line from here. I wanna see how the river level looks,”

Dean did a very, very good job of not rolling his eyes.

Jimmy slipped almost immediately once he stepped onto the mud. Dean barely caught him by the crook of his arm, setting him back upright as gently and quickly as possible.

“Maybe you should stay up on the pier… I can check the water,” Dean offered.

Jimmy waved him away.

“No, I want to see it myself,”

Sometimes, Dean could really see the family resemblance between Jimmy and Cas. They were both stubborn as all hell, for one thing.

It took twenty more minutes, and several more falls from Jimmy before Dean put his foot down and called it.

“Look, man, we can meet back out here again tomorrow morning, I swear. But you gotta put on better shoes,”

Jimmy acquiesced, putting his hands up in surrender.

Dean helped Jimmy clamber back up onto the pier, and got blasted with mud for his troubles. He was thankful for the tread on his boots and he braced himself under Jimmy’s weight.

When they were back up on the pier, Dean bit the bullet.

“Why are you so insistent on having these stupid boats?” His voice reflected the grumpiness he felt.

Jimmy didn’t look at him. Instead, his eyes focused on the reflection of the moon on the water.

“When Claire was little,” He started, his voice a million miles away, “Amelia and I used to take her out on the water in these little paddleboats. Nothing fancy, just dumb little things that Claire loved to push around,”

Dean settled in for the story, sensing the hushed nature of Jimmy’s words.

“When Amelia died, Claire just… I don’t know… Stopped liking the water. Maybe she associated it with her mom, maybe she just got too old for it. I don’t know. All I know is she’s getting older, and pretty soon, she’ll be off at college, and I won’t have an opportunity to spend this much time with her again. I want to give her this gift sooner rather than later. I want to give her the river back,”

Dean’s irritation began to melt into sympathy. He didn’t have kids of his own, but he had basically raised Sammy after their mother had died. He understood.

“Hey, man, we’ll talk more about this tomorrow. Go home for now. You can call Claire in the morning,”

Jimmy nodded, before saying, “Yeah, that’s a good idea. I’ll see you tomorrow morning,”

“Do you need a ride home?”

Jimmy shook his head.

“Nah, I’m gonna hang out here for a bit. Sit with my thoughts,”

Dean eyed him skeptically.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I’ll be fine. Go home, I’ll see you tomorrow,”

Dean debated forcing Jimmy to come back with him, before giving up and realizing it probably wasn’t worth it. Novak stubbornness was a notorious thing, after all.

“Alright, man, I’ll see ya tomorrow then,”

He left with a wave, and the churning feeling in his gut that he was making a mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who needs plot twists when you can just hit your readers over the head with a mallet I like to call "foreshadowing"?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haven't lived in kansas since I was a kid. anyways, this chapter's shorter than usual because I got a promotion at work and haven't had as much time to write. originally, I was gonna combine this chapter and the concept for the next one into one massive chapter, but at this point, i don't have time.  
> i've decided mondays are my new update day, because that coincides with when i have the most free time in my schedule.  
> lastly, friendly reminder that I am autistic, and this fic is based off of my personal experiences with autism and its less savory aspects.  
> enjoy this unedited chapter three.

Jimmy wasn’t home when Castiel woke up.

That, in and of itself, was not surprising. Jimmy was his own person, and he could handle himself. Castiel tried his very best not to let it bug him.

Still, he couldn’t help but worry.

He had originally planned on spending the day in bed, relaxing and avoiding his family. He was on vacation, he’d earned some time to himself.

The shrill ringing of the house phone was what finally pulled him out of his comfortable perch in bed. Castiel grumbled as he made his way to the kitchen and pulled the phone out of its receiver, deftly pressing the ANSWER CALL button as he grabbed a box of cereal.

“Hello?”

“Cas?” Came the questioning voice.

Castiel almost dropped his food. Why was Dean calling the house?

He suppressed the urge to hang up.

“Dean?”

His hands were shaking. He didn’t like how being caught off guard could leave him feeling like this.

“Um, yeah. Hey. Hi,” Dean’s voice was awkward, pitched up significantly higher than usual. Castiel frowned.

“How can I help you?”

Dean seemed to choke on his words, although it was difficult for Castiel to be sure over the phone.

“Is, uh… Is Jimmy around?”

“He’s not,” Castiel knew he sounded terse. It was something he had trouble with, the unspoken way most people seemed to understand how to properly express their feelings. He wasn’t upset with Dean for calling, not annoyed in any way, and yet he knew that his tone probably said otherwise. He just… didn’t quite see the point in trying to make his voice warm, friendly in the way his brother had mastered as a child.

It was much easier to just speak naturally, the way his brain told him to. Way less mental effort.

It was different when he was writing. Characters weren’t people. Dialogue wasn’t a conversation. It was all a puzzle, one that he actually enjoyed putting together. He still remembered Jimmy’s words after he’d published his first novel.

_Wow, so you can’t talk to people in real life without accidentally pissing them off, but you can write the most romantic conversations known to man?_

He hadn’t told Jimmy that most of those dialogue snippets had been taken word-for-word from conversations he’d had with Dean. That was a can of worms he didn’t need to open.

“Oh, um. Alright then,” Dean cleared his throat, the sharp sound drawing Castiel’s attention back to the conversation at hand, “I was just calling to let him know his car is ready to be picked up. It’s already paid for, I just charged the card on file. Just need someone to come sign on the dotted line,”

“I’ll let him know,”

“Actually,” Dean’s voice was just as uncomfortable as Castiel felt, “It’s gotta be picked up today. Bobby needs the space for another job as soon as possible. Can you let him know that it’s gotta be out by noon at the latest?”

Castiel almost cursed under his breath. Almost.

Leave it to Jimmy to disappear on the day when he’s needed. Fucking small town mechanic shops. Castiel pressed his shoulder up against the phone, freeing his hand up to worry at his hangnail.

“Does it need to be Jimmy who signs?”

Castiel already regretted asking the question. He knew if Jimmy didn’t pick up the car, he’d have to do it. Still, he had no way of knowing whether or not Jimmy would be back in time to pick it up, or if he’d even respond to a text message or a phone call. As annoying as the whole space issue was, he’d hate to inconvenience Dean further just because he couldn’t figure out where Jimmy was.

“No,” Dean said quietly. Was that worry in his tone? Castiel wasn’t quite sure. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, everything’s fine,” Castiel wasn’t sure why Dean cared.

“Care to elaborate?”

What was Dean doing? This was already more than they’d talked in years. Castiel’s heart fluttered in his chest everytime Dean so much as breathed too loud into the phone. They didn’t chat. They didn’t call each other just to talk. They certainly didn’t call each other to _elaborate_.

Castiel didn’t deserve that. He had no right to expect Dean to listen to his worries, his concerns over his brother’s whereabouts.

“No, I don’t,”

Dean was quiet for a long moment.

“Alright,”

The silence hung heavy.

“I’ll let Jimmy know,”

Castiel was sure Dean could hear his pounding heart from across town.

“Yeah, you do that,”

Castiel picked at the hangnail, finally freeing it. A stripe of blood appeared against his cuticle. He pressed the thumb from his other hand against it to staunch the flow.

“Yeah,”

He hated being this painfully awkward. What the hell was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to make this less weird? His brain was going a mile a minute in one direction, and completely empty in the other. Dean couldn’t have been faring any better.

Thankfully – no, _mercifully –_ Cas heard someone shout in the background. Something vague and indistinct. The words spurred Dean into gear again though.

“Well, this was fun. I’ve, uh, gotta go now, but thanks for the chat,” He paused, ever so slightly, “Talk to ya later, Cas,”

He hung up before Castiel had the chance to respond.

Castiel gave himself two minutes.

Two minutes to process what just happened.

He and Dean had talked. It had been awkward.

He gave himself two minutes to process the elation, pain, and nerves.

He took a deep breath and rubbed and his eyes. There was a strange wetness that he realized a few moments later was the blood from his thumb.

One minute.

His breaths were shaky. His hands were worse, trembling and unsteady.

Thirty seconds.

He breathed in as deep as he could through his nose, exhaling through his mouth.

10 seconds.

He pressed hard against his eyes with the palm of his hands.

Time was up.

He pushed away from the counter and pulled out his phone to text Jimmy.

* * *

Dean was filthy, even by mechanic standards. Normally, it wasn’t unusual for him to be absolutely covered in oil and grime, all part of the usual hazards of the job, but today was different. Today, he had gotten completely doused in oil when the drain plug under Ellen’s car had gotten stuck and refused to budge. Even the impact driver hadn’t helped. So he’d spent a solid thirty minutes just working at the plug, trying to get it loose when suddenly, it twisted. It twisted out, and Dean realized it was a lot shorter than a plug should be. Significantly shorter. So short that all it took was one half turn of his socket wrench, and bam. Dirty motor oil right to the face.

“Bobby!” He sputtered around the oil in his mouth.

“What?”

“Tell Ellen to stop letting Ash touch her fuckin’ car!”

Bobby wheeled around the corner, and laughed when he saw the mess Dean had made.

“Gettin’ cocky, boy,”

“It’s not cocky to expect a drain plug to act like normal,” Dean groused. He wiped the offending item off with a spare rag in his pocket and tossed it over to Bobby.

Bobby eyed the plug with a look of disdain.

“Alright, you’re right. I’ll let her know. Is that boy tryin’ to get my wife killed or somethin’?”

Dean wiped his hands on his coveralls, dirtying the last few clean spots.

“How many other ‘repairs’ has he done recently?” He knew he sounded cranky, but he was pretty sure Bobby would understand why. A trail of oil leaked down the side of his face, tickling the skin.

“I don’t even think he knows. I’ll schedule the car for a full overhaul this week. Hell, I’ll even pay you extra to take an oil bath again if it means I get to watch,”

“Get your rocks off somewhere else, old man,”

The service bell in the office rang.

“I’ll deal with it. Clean yourself up, why don’t ya?”

Dean rolled his eyes as Bobby wheeled away.

He pulled on the rag in his hands, tugging it as hard as he could as he debated how best to go about getting the oil out of his hair. He could just give himself a sink bath, use the soap in there to get it out. He almost winced at the crick it would put in his neck, though. Otherwise, he could just stick to running his dirty towel through his hair and hope it didn’t leave any grime behind. That wasn’t likely though.

He grimaced. Short of walking home for a quick shower, it looked like the towel was his only option.

He ran it briskly over his head, scrubbing at the parts of his scalp that felt grimiest and doing his best to avoid rubbing the dirtier parts of the towel against his skin. When he was done, he checked his reflection in Ellen’s sideview mirror. He groaned. There was a huge streak of black grease down the side of his face. He scrubbed at it with the towel. It didn’t budge. Great.

Someone cleared their throat.

“Alright, Barbie, enough. Cas is here for Jimmy’s car. Walk him through all the repairs,”

Dean froze.

Cas?

God must be out to get him or something, because of course Cas would show up when Dean had a grease stain down his face and motor oil in his hair.

Dean looked up.

There he was, still in that stupid trench coat. Fuck, was that the same coat he’d had since high school? How’d he manage to keep it looking so nice for so long?

“Hello Dean,”

Dean swallowed the lump in his throat, feeling like his stomach was weighted down with rocks. He ran a nervous hand through his hair.

“Hey Cas,”

“Well,” Bobby said gruffly, “I’ll let you two lovebirds get at it,”

Dean changed his mind on the grease stain he was currently wearing as face paint. It had to be a pretty good distraction from how hard he was blushing.

Bobby wheeled off, leaving Dean and Cas alone. Fucking asshole.

The two of them were silent for a long moment. Dean’s heart pounded in his chest. Cas was looking at him with that stupid, adorable face – the one where he pinched his eyebrows together and squinted his eyes, head tilted at just the right angle.

Dean wasn’t sure how to break the silence. The tension in his body felt ready to snap, a frayed thread supporting his entire weight.

Cas, on the other hand, seemed to have no qualms.

“You’ve got something on your face,”

Dean awkwardly rubbed at the grease splotch.

“Yeah, comes with the territory, I guess,” He gestured around the room, hoping the state of the shop spoke for itself. As hard as he tried to keep the place clean, it didn’t seem to want to stay that way. The room had a mind of its own. The best he could do was clean as often as possible and go out of his way to make sure the tools stayed as organized as possible. Didn’t help much, though.

“That makes sense,” Cas’ voice betrayed nothing of his emotions. Dean had never seen someone with such a good poker face. The man was made of stone, as far as he was concerned. At least, he was made of stone when he wanted to be. It made Dean sad to realize that Cas was probably purposely keeping those walls up. He missed the old Cas, the one he’d know his whole life. Warm, funny, and dorky as all hell. Not the intimidating mask of a man standing before him now.

“Yeah, well,” He rubbed absently at the back of his hand with his dirty rag, dragging streak of grease across his wrist, “Let’s go check out the car,”

He gestured towards the door in the back of the shop that led to the tiny parking lot they had out back for finished cars. Jimmy’s Prius sat at the far end.

“So we switched out the suspension system, just the standard shocks, springs, and anti-sway bars. Jimmy didn’t request us to fix anything else, so I left most of it alone, but it looks like something happened to the front right quarter panel. Has he mentioned accidentally hitting something recently? Maybe a fender bender?”

Cas pursed his lips.

“He mentioned something a few weeks ago, something about a lady in the city braking too suddenly. I hadn’t realized it had resulted in a collision,”

Dean frowned. That wasn’t good. The car would need a full inspection to check for hidden damages. Most people didn’t bother with them after a small bumper-to-bumper incident, but with a new suspension system in place, it was always better to be safe than sorry.

“Do you want me to take a look at the frame? Make sure the thing wasn’t fucked up in the accident?”

Cas frowned deeper.

“I’m not sure if Jimmy would want that,”

Dean nodded, understanding but also annoyed. The car needed to be looked at. It was a safety thing.

“I know he was planning on giving the car to Claire sometime soon. Maybe you could convince him it would be best for her safety?”

Cas nodded.

A thought occurred to Dean.

“Hey, speaking of Jimmy… where is he?”

A dark look passed over Cas’ face.

“I…,” He paused, as though debating what to say, “I don’t know,” he finally admitted, “I haven’t seen him since yesterday,”

A pang of worry settled deep in Dean’s gut. He remembered seeing how Jimmy had been slipping in the mud of the riverbank, his impractical business shoes a hazard to his safety. The stupid fucker hadn’t gone back down to the water line after Dean had left, right? He couldn’t possible have been that idiotic…

Dean pushed the feeling down, burying it under his nerves about being around Cas. It was easy to pretend he was practically fizzling with the proximity of his ex-boyfriend when he was focusing on work, but now that the conversation had shifted, it was harder to remember how to act.

He cleared his throat.

“Well, I’m sure he’ll turn up. Isn’t there supposed to be a parade committee meeting again tonight?”

Dean didn’t need to ask. Bobby’s wife, Ellen, had the parade meeting schedule posted on the same board as the daily work schedule. It was a subtle attempt by Dean’s pseudo-mother to guilt him into attending. Like clockwork, it showed up every year, and every year Dean avoided going to the meetings like his life depended on it.

“Yes, I believe there is,”

Awkward silence fell again as Dean struggled to find words.

Cas saved him again.

“Well, thank you for the work on the car. I’d like to get going now,”

Dean breathed in relief.

“Yeah, of course, let me just grab the keys,”

Dean led Cas back into the shop and grabbed the keys from the rack hanging by the door, deftly handing them to Cas.

“So, when you leave, just take a left out of the lot. GPS will tell you to take a right. Don’t listen to it,”

Cas nodded like he was receiving state secrets instead of just regular directions. Dean suppressed a smile.

“Thank you, Dean,”

Butterflies fluttered through Dean veins when Cas said his name. Actual fucking butterflies.

“Yeah, no problem,” His voice was gruff.

Cas extended a hand for a handshake.

Dean held his breath as he accepted it.

The fireworks exploded against his fingertips, trailing all the way up his arm. His dizzy brain locked onto the sight of their hands clasped together, and he smiled when he saw the bandaid on Cas’ thumb. The bumblebee design suited him.

He looked at Cas’ face, and the expression there almost stopped his heart. There, in the corner of his mouth, so subtle that only Dean could’ve caught it, was a smile. Just the barest hint of one, but it was there. It disappeared just as soon as Dean saw it, but he wasn’t disappointed. It had been there.

“It was nice to see you,” Cas’ voice was gruff, deeper than it had been a few moments ago.

Dean watched as Cas turned on his heel and left, twirling the Prius’ keys around his fingers.

Dean exhaled slowly, blowing out the breath he’d been holding since Cas had reached for his hand.

* * *

The drive home from the mechanic shop was significantly more stressful than time behind the wheel normally was for Castiel. Maybe it was leftover nerves from his chat with Dean, maybe it was anxiety about Jimmy, maybe a combination of both. Whatever it was, though, it was compounding itself into something way worse. The sunlight glinting off the snow was bright, stabbing his eyes. The sound of the engine was a humming buzz in his ears. He almost didn’t consciously recognize the oil light flickering on, the red dot barely registering against the humming in his brain.

Everything was too much.

He was only two minutes away from the house, but he had to pull the car off to the side of the road and shut it off. He fumbled the pair of earplugs he kept on hand out of his pocket, and shoved them into his ears.

This was the stuff he hated about his autism.

Normally, it felt a bit like a superpower, as if he had traded communication abilities for the ability to think about the world the way he did. It made him feel strong, like he could think his way through any situation. He absorbed knowledge like a sponge, becoming smarter with each passing day. Information came easily to him, and he could connect the dots between two seemingly unrelated items with ease. He was a good writer because of that very skill.

Even Superman had kryptonite, though, and Castiel’s was overstimulation. His brain felt fogged up, as if he had to wade through mud to get to reality. Every noise was an alligator in the swamp, a new threat that could hurt him. Every image in front of his eyes was a boat’s motor stirring up the muck underneath the water of his thoughts.

He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes.

He gave himself five minutes to calm down. Five minutes to breathe. Five minutes to push all of those feelings out of his brain until he felt nothing at all.

That was how he used to deal with his parents when they were at their worst. He’d turn off his emotions. He’d stare blankly ahead of him. He’d breathe.

And he’d survive.

He could do this, too.

If he could survive Michael’s sermons about how he was going to hell for his sexual inclinations, he could survive a short drive to Jimmy’s home.

It took one attempt at grabbing the steering wheel again before Castiel realized that purely turning off his emotions wasn’t going to solve the problem at hand.

With a sigh, he leaned the driver’s seat as far back as it would go and pushed his ear plugs into his ears until they were just short of hurting. Heaving his arm up to cover his face, he squeezed his eyes shut tight and let the feeling wash over him.

It never really got easier, having a meltdown.

Sure, he got better about recognizing the signs earlier on and was able to circumvent them more often than he had been able to as a child. Sure, living alone in the city meant he had a controlled environment where he could manage triggers and keep emotional interactions to a minimum. Sure, he had structured his personal life around not needing to be in an office everyday thereby avoiding the need to interact with people regularly.

All of those sureties were thrown out the window when he visited his hometown, though.

Jimmy was missing, and Castiel was worried. He was sure everything was fine. Probably. Still, he didn’t like the fact that Jimmy hadn’t even responded to his earlier text about the Prius. It wasn’t like him. Castiel didn’t like people acting outside of how they normally did.

Dean was an entirely different problem. Maybe Castiel was being selfish. He didn’t deserve Dean. He certainly didn’t deserve to know that Dean’s touch still felt like cold water on a hot day, and that it had immediately quelled his roiling worry over Jimmy, if only temporarily.

He knew he was still in love with Dean. That thought was what had inspired every single one of his novels so far, and it wasn’t a stretch to believe that Dean’s touch would still have that effect on him. What confused him was the fact that Dean didn’t hate him.

He still remembered saying no.

Dean had knelt down on one knee, in the middle of the stupid dance on the tennis court. He’d proposed at the site of their first date, and during the same song they’d had their first kiss.

Castiel had said no.

Fuck, why was he so stuck on this now?

That memory was one that he kept buried in a box in the back of his brain, and yet, it seemed determined to make itself the primary thought in Castiel’s brain.

Trips to Lawrence weren’t usually this bad.

Granted, he usually didn’t interact with Dean this much either.

Fuck.

He groaned and jiggled in his leg in a desperate attempt to set some of the spiders crawling along his nerves free.

He was so distracted by the sensation of everything, the overwhelming nature of his brain in meltdown mode that he almost missed the phone call. As it was, he was barely able to hit the ANSWER button on his phone screen.

“Hello?” His voice was rough, strangled from his sensory overload.

“Hey, Cas,” Ellen Singer’s voice cut through his tension, a clear bell ring in his addled mind.

Ellen Singer was something else, to say the least. Stronger than half the men in town, and smarter than all of them, she was a whiz at business and interpersonal problems. Between her and Bobby, their two businesses made up a large chunk of the non-college-town related income generated for the town. Ellen herself was effectively the town’s matriarch, and she showed it by taking on as many public projects as she could get her hand on, including the parade.

Even in his current state, Castiel didn’t have to think too hard to realize that that’s probably what she was calling about.

“Hey, Ellen, how can I help you?” He winced at how pathetic he sounded and hoped Ellen would be gracious enough to not comment on it.

“All business, then, huh? Alright, well, Jimmy told me you’d be coming to the meeting tonight. Is that still the plan?”

Castiel’s ears caught on Jimmy’s name, and it was enough of a jolt to keep him from getting upset over being signed up for a meeting without his knowledge. It was weird that Jimmy hadn’t told him about it, though.

“You spoke to Jimmy?”

“Yeah, the other day,”

Castiel’s heart sank in his chest. It was getting harder and harder to deny the fact that Jimmy’s absence was worrying. The longer he was gone, the more concerned Castiel got. He shook the thoughts away.

“Yeah, I’ll be there. Can you text me the details?”

“Why can’t you just ask your brother?” Ellen cut straight to the point in that special way she had of peeling away layers of bullshit.

Castiel hedged, not wanting to worry her.

“He’s been busy all day. No cell service,” His voice sounded tinny, even to himself. Ellen would see right through the lie.

She harrumphed.

“If you say so. I’ll have Jo text you. Talk to ya later,”

She hung up before Castiel could say goodbye.

He liked Ellen. She was easy to talk to. He never had to pretend to be something he wasn’t, never had to pretend to understand the finer points of conversation. She wasn’t a metaphorical speaker. She said what she meant, and she meant every word of what she said. It made conversations with her so much easier. Not to mention, she had a poker face to rival his own, and didn’t get offended when he was stone-faced during their conversations.

He wished it was like that with everyone else. As it stood, it wasn’t. Not everyone was as understanding of him as Ellen was. As Jimmy was.

As Dean had been.

And so, he found himself pulled over on the side of the road, two minutes from his destination, with ear plugs in and an arm thrown over his face in a desperate attempt to deal with the side effects of his brain’s neurochemistry.

Sometimes, being autistic fucking sucked.

* * *

Dean could not believe he was doing this. He could not fucking believe Bobby had had the guts to trick him. _Oh, Dean, I need a lift! Oh, Dean, please drive me to the community center! Oh, Dean, Ellen said she’ll make you that apple pie fritter recipe you love if you just give me a ride. It’s only a few minutes away! Please?_

Dean should’ve known better. Bobby never said please.

As it stood, he was currently sitting in his _assigned_ seat – a fucking assigned seat – at the little plastic folding table in the community center that Ellen had set up for the parade committee meeting that evening, and he was not happy about it.

“Quit pouting,” Ellen had griped.

“Keep makin’ that face and it’ll get stuck that way,” Bobby had warned him.

He wanted his face to get stuck like this. He wanted them to know he was decidedly _not happy_ about being stuck here.

Dean was halfway through debating whether he could fake an emergency to get out of the meeting when Cas showed up, stupid trench coat billowing in the breeze on his way in, snowflakes stuck in his dark hair. His cheeks were pink from the cold, and his eyes were bright, glittering in the artificial light of the community center.

He looked good, despite the shapelessness of his clothes. Hell, maybe Dean was far gone enough on the man that the shapeless clothes _helped_ his appearance.

“Good, you’re here,” Ellen’s voice was brusque, “We can get started now,”

Cas’ already pink cheeks flushed even further as he hurried towards the only crowded table. Dean stiffened when he realized the only free seat was the one right next to him.

Cas didn’t even spare him a glance as he sat down, holding himself stiffly upright in his chair. Dean noticed that it seemed like Cas was doing his damnedest to not accidentally brush up against Dean, despite the close quarters the table provided.

“Alright, so, let’s get to business,” Ellen stood at the far end of the table opposite of Dean and Cas. In her hands, she held thick packets of paper, which she courteously distributed amongst the group. When Dean received his, he noticed it appeared to be an amalgamation of various land surveys, business contact information, and scans of newspaper articles about parades in past years.

“Now, Jimmy, why don’t you tell everyone about your _little plan_ ,”

Cas and Dean both stiffened at the same time.

“I’m, uh, I’m not Jimmy,” Cas said awkwardly, pulling at the bandaid on his thumb.

Ellen seemed to lag for a moment as her brain caught up to the situation.

“Cas?”

“In the flesh,”

“Where’s Jimmy,”

Dean didn’t miss the flash of worry in Cas’ eyes.

“Busy,”

Fuck, had Jimmy still not come back yet? That worried, gnawing feeling from earlier was beginning to chew at his stomach again. Had something happened to him?

Ellen chewed the inside of her cheek, obviously debating how to proceed. Dean decided that was his cue to zone out. The only reason he was a part of this stupid committee now was because Jimmy wanted him to put motors on the boats and service the vehicles for the parade floats. Only one of those things required his attendance at these meetings, and since Jimmy wasn’t here, that meant he had no purpose today. Fuck, he really was about to waste an hour or two, wasn’t he?

He sighed, watching as Ellen began conducting the meeting.

“Boring, isn’t it?” Cas’ whisper caught him off guard.

“Stupid, actually,” Dean didn’t turn to see how Cas took his words.

“I agree,”

Why the hell was Cas here in the first place?

As if he had read Dean’s mind, Cas whispered again, “Ellen guilt tripped me into coming. Why are you here?”

“Bobby tricked me,” The quietness of his whisper didn’t do anything to mask the bitterness in his voice. Cas picked at the bandaid on his thumb.

They were quiet for several minutes as Ellen continued talking, something about the process for awarding a festival booth to the applicants. The gnawing in Dean’s gut wouldn’t go away.

Without turning to look at Cas, he whispered, “Hey, be honest with me… Is Jimmy okay? I’m worried about him,”

“I don’t know,” Cas paused, “I’m worried too,”

He really was. Dean could hear it in his voice.

Cas managed to get through the bandaid and started pulling at the skin around his cuticle.

Ellen continued talking.

Dean latched onto any excuse to distract himself and Cas from the worry.

“Hey, remember when we were kids?” Dean risked a glance in Cas’ direction, “How we’d always say we were gonna skip the parade?”

Cas nodded, a slight dip of his head.

“Yes,”

“Yeah well, remember that spot behind Rufus’ old booth, the little alcove behind the tree?”

Cas nodded again.

“Guess who I caught smoking back there last week?”

Cas’ eyebrow quirked.

“Your niece,”

There it was. The little hint of a smile.

“Guess she takes more after her uncle than her old man, huh?” Dean physically had to stop himself from jostling Cas’ arm with his elbow.

“You know, Amelia always used to say something similar,”

Amelia, Claire’s mom, had been too good for Jimmy. Funny, bright, and sarcastic as hell. Dean had always liked her. She’d died too young, as far as he was concerned. Claire had never even gotten to really know her.

The thought sobered him slightly. Fuck, if something had happened to Jimmy, what would happen to Claire.

“Hey,” Dean started, voice tense, “Does Claire know Jimmy’s AWOL?”

Cas grimaced.

“No. I mean, maybe? I texted her asking if she’d heard from it. She’s smart enough to figure out what I meant by that,”

“Maybe you should tell her outright, man,”

The corners of Cas’ mouth twitched down, subtle as always.

“I think you’re right,”

“Hey,”

Cas looked up at him.

“I’m sorry you’re goin’ through this, bud. It can’t be easy,”

In front of them, Ellen was still talking, oblivious to Dean and Cas’ conversation.

It struck Dean that this whole situation was ridiculous. Dean was sitting at a plastic folding table, so close to his ex-boyfriend that they were practically on top of each other, consoling him over something that would probably end up not even being that big of a deal. They had spent years not talking, years refusing to even be in the same room as each other. Now, for seemingly no reason, they were side-by-side again, united against the common cause of Stupid, Pointless Committee Meetings.

Insane.

Dean wasn’t quite sure what had spurred the change in their dynamic. Maybe nothing really had changed. Even after everything Cas had put him through, he’d never wanted to lose him. Never wanted a life where Cas wasn’t a part of it.

Was it crazy to hope that Cas felt the same?

They were staring at each other, Dean realized. He coughed into his hand and turned away, trying hard to focus on Ellen’s words. It was pointless. He could still feel Cas’ eyes on him.

“You know,” Cas whispered, voice quieter than before and laced with hesitance, “As soon as I left the shop earlier, Jimmy’s oil light came on,”

Dean quirked an eyebrow. Jimmy shouldn’t have been due for an oil change any time soon, and Dean had just seen the underside of the car the day before. No damage to anything that would’ve caused a leak. Must be a sensor.

“I can take a look at it, if you want,”

“That would be nice,” Cas’ voice sounded relieved, as if he’d been expecting Dean to turn him down.

“Is it in the parking lot?”

“No, I walked,”

Of course, he did. No wonder his face had been so chilled when he got in.

“You walked? In that coat? Jesus, did you at least have a scarf,”

Cas shook his head.

“The oil light had me a little scared to get behind the wheel again,”

Dean grimaced. He had forgotten about Cas’ issues with cars.

“You should’ve told me, man. I would’ve picked you up,”

“I didn’t even know you were coming!”

Cas’ volume rose, interrupting Ellen and drawing the committee’s attention to them.

“Boys, do you have something to add?” Ellen sounded annoyed. Dean shook his head, sheepish.

“No, ma’am,” Cas said, equally as penitent.

“Good, then shut yer yaps so I can finish,”

Ellen continued as though she had never been interrupted in the first place.

Cas repeated himself, quieter this time.

“I didn’t know you were coming,”

Dean couldn’t argue with them. How was Cas supposed to call him if he didn’t know what Dean’s schedule was? Hell, did Cas even know his phone number?

Before he gave himself the time to regret his next move, he had scribbled his phone number on the cover of Cas’ information packet with one of the pens from the pile in the middle of the table.

“Call me next time. Don’t walk. This ain’t LA. You’ll get frostbite in that coat,”

Cas squinted at the number and didn’t speak again until the end of the meeting.

As everyone was standing up, and Dean made to join them, Cas caught him by the wrist, dragging Dean’s attention to him.

“Thank you, Dean. I promise I’ll text next time,”

Dean felt a little relief at those words, glad he didn’t have to fight Cas over it.

“Anytime,”

He was halfway back to his car when his phone buzzed.

_Hello, Dean. I need a ride home._

* * *

Castiel regretted the text as soon as he sent it. He had no right to just ask Dean for a ride home, let alone to expect him to agree to it over a medium as rude as a text. His heart had hammered in his chest until Dean had reappeared in the doorway, a lopsided smile on his face.

“Ya comin’?”

Castiel followed him to the car.

He remembered Baby. Everyone remembered Baby. The classic Impala was pretty hard to forget, and Dean made it even harder by taking such great care of her. She shined under the snow, her glossy black paint almost mirror-like in its perfect condition.

The passenger seat was a cherished memory that very few people got to have. Her interior smelled like leather and sandalwood, combined with the pinewood smell of Dean’s aftershave. Her leather seats were comfortable, soft enough to sleep on if one needed to. Her dashboard was spotless, not a speck of dust in sight.

Castiel knew if he opened the glove compartment, he’d find a cardboard box full of Dean’s old mixtapes.

Castiel closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of the Impala, a luxury he never thought he’d have again. When he opened his eyes again, he caught Dean staring at him with a look on his face that Castiel was pretty sure was curiosity.

“What?”

“Nothin’,”

“That wasn’t a ‘nothin’’ look,” Castiel frowned. He began to worry at his thumb again. Part of him was still scared that this was a bad idea,”

Dean raised his hands defensively.

“I just didn’t realize you missed Baby. That’s all,”

Castiel squinted at Dean, wondering how on earth the man could’ve guessed that.

“You had that look on your face,”

When Castiel didn’t say anything, Dean continued.

“You know, the whole ‘wistful joy’ thing or whatever,”

“How could you possibly have known that my face represented ‘wistful joy’?”

He kept digging at the skin around his thumbnail, wincing when he pulled a little too hard at a piece of skin that wasn’t quite ready to come loose yet.

Before he could register what was happening, Dean’s hand was covering his own, gently tugging his fingers away from his raw thumb.

“Stop that,” His voice was gentle but commanding all the same.

Castiel frowned at him.

“Don’t tell me what to do,”

Dean didn’t rise to the tone in Castiel’s voice.

“Check the glove compartment. Stop tearing at your skin,”

Dean put the car in reverse as Castiel did what he was told. Inside the glove compartment, there was a polished worry stone. _Castiel’s_ polished worry stone. It had been his favorite when he was younger. Rainbow fluorite. He’d gotten it as a gift from Dean, after Dean had come back from a trip to Yellowstone with Bobby.

“I got it in this super cool crystal shop. Charlie would’ve loved it. Super new-agey crap,” Dean had said when he’d presented Castiel with the stone.

Castiel had always wondered what had happened to it. Leave it to Dean to keep something for weird, sentimental reasons.

He bounced it in the palm of his hand, rubbing his thumb over the smooth indent in its surface. Years later, and it was still a perfect fit. Experimentally, he rubbed a thumb up the indent before deftly spinning it between his thumb and forefinger, before sliding his thumb back down.

He smiled.

“Figured you’d want that back eventually,” Dean was focused on the road, both hands on the steering wheel. Castiel felt himself relax incrementally. Dean had always been an incredible driver, even when he was goofing around or driving with poor form. He seemed perfectly in tune with his car, driver and vehicle melding into one instrument that was suited just right for driving down the road at eighty miles an hour with classic rock music blaring on the ancient speakers.

“I thought it had been lost forever,”

Dean smiled.

Castiel liked making Dean smile. It sent a rush of energy through him, unmatched by anything else he’d ever experienced.

The air between them was tentative, fragile. There was hope there, though. It was resting between them like a gift, one that both of them were too scared to open. Both of them hoping the other would open it first.

Castiel wanted Dean to break the tension. He didn’t know how to do it himself.

Dean stayed quiet, though. As if he were content to just keep his eyes on the road.

Castiel opted instead to rifle through Dean’s glove compartment.

There was the box of tapes, of course. A handful of old polaroids. Dean and his brother, Sam, Dean and Charlie, Sam and Charlie, Dean with Bobby and Ellen. He stopped short on the last photo. Dean had his arm slung over Castiel’s shoulders, a kiss pressed to Castiel’s cheek. He glanced at Dean, relieved to see the man hadn’t turned to look at him. Castiel shoved the pictures back in the glove box. No point in snooping if you didn’t know you would be comfortable with what you found.

“You can keep looking in there, you know. I don’t mind,”

“I don’t want to,” Adrenaline was rushing through his body. Why had Dean kept the picture?

“Alright, fair enough. Wanna listen to music?”

“No, I’m okay, thank you,”

The awkwardness was increasing, a pressure that rose around Castiel’s neck, almost choking him. He genuinely thought he might lose the ability to breathe.

Dean seemed to be teetering on the edge of saying something, the words poised at the tip of his tongue.

“So,” Dean started. His voice was quiet, as if he were scared to upset Castiel.

“So,” Castiel mirrored.

“Did Jimmy tell you he and I had a meeting last night?”

Castiel looked at Dean, sure the surprise was written all over his face. Dean’s face, on the other hand, was tight, brows drawn close and mouth puckered. Castiel was pretty sure that was a concerned look.

“He didn’t. Why do you mention it?”

“We met down at the river, after dark,”

That was an odd place for a meeting. Jimmy must’ve been pushing for the boats again.

“He wasn’t wearing the best shoes for walking along a muddy riverbank,”

Where was Dean going with this?

“When’s the last time you heard from Jimmy, Cas?”

Was Dean insinuating what Castiel thought he was? There was no way. Absolutely no way.

“Yesterday, while Claire was packing,”

“Okay, so I saw him more recently than you,”

It wasn’t a question.

“Why is that important?”

Dean sighed.

“It’s important because I’m getting concerned that no one’s seen him since I left him on the pier yesterday?”

Castiel pushed down the wave of anxiety that rose in his gut.

“Why are you talking about this? I don’t like this conversation,”

“I don’t like it either,” Dean’s face was grim, “Have you tried calling him today?”

Castiel shook his head.

“No, but I tried texting him,”

“And he didn’t respond?”

Castiel shook his head again.

Dean took a deep breath, and Castiel hoped that it marked the end of the conversation.

“I think you need to call Jody, Cas,”

There it was. The verbal acknowledgment of Castiel’s nerves regarding his brother. Castiel shook his head.

“I’m sure he’s fine. He’s probably in the city,”

“Did he take his rental with him?”

“No,”

“Then how’d he get to Kansas City?”

“I don’t know!” Castiel almost shouted. He took a deep breath, worrying at the stone in his hand so hard, he thought for a moment it might snap in half.

Dean’s hands tightened on the wheel.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” His voice sounded sincere, and Castiel was pretty sure the lifted eyebrows and wide eyes signaled contriteness.

He stayed quiet for a few moments before answering with a simple, “It’s okay,”

“I’m just worried,” Dean said simply. He navigated the car around a bend, onto the street with Jimmy’s house.

“Me too,” Castiel breathed out.

* * *

Castiel tossed and turned in bed, falling in and out of dreams. Rivers were a pretty heavily featured motif across them, as were drowning and mud. Finally, when Castiel got absolutely fed up with his inability to sleep without dreaming about murky water filling his lungs, he trudged out of bed and into the kitchen.

He debated pouring himself a glass of water, but with the memory of his drowning nightmares so fresh in his mind, he opted to just chew on some ice cubes instead.

Dean had dropped him off without much more conversation, just a reminder to call him if he needed a ride and a pointed look at Jimmy’s rental car that was past due on its return.

As he’d sped off, Castiel had made his way into the house, the worry stone pinched in his hand.

It wasn’t that he didn’t feel anxiety over Jimmy’s disappearance. His brother had never pulled a move like this before. Jimmy was the very picture of the modern American man. Perfect hair, perfect job, perfect clothes, even perfect teeth. His life had honestly been perfect until Amelia had died.

Still, even in the wake of his wife’s death, Jimmy hadn’t done anything like this. He hadn’t disappeared without a trace for over twenty-four hours. Hell, Castiel could barely remember a time where Jimmy hadn’t gone more than twenty minutes without announcing his presence to the entire world, a habit that had only compounded when he’d gotten access to social media.

To say Castiel was concerned was an understatement. Honestly, he was scared. Scared something had happened to his brother.

Dean’s words about the river hadn’t been much help. All he could focus on now was the idea that his brother had slipped into an ice cold river and had gotten hurt or frostbitten only to wash up on some riverbank miles away from home without a functioning phone.

As the hours ticked by, and the night grew shorter, Castiel felt his nerves ratcheting up more and more. Every minute that passed was another minute that Jimmy was out of his reach. Castiel could feel his blood pressure getting higher and higher as the moon descended on the sky and the beginnings of dawn creeped at the horizon.

As the last of the stars faded, Castiel made a decision. He’d wait until seven. Jody would be at the sheriff’s office by then, and he could call her, and she’d talk some sense into him.

At five, he broke that promise and dialed Jody’s personal number.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit 01/31/2021
> 
> So. I got a second job. I now work in two separate covid labs, handling and testing specimens. I have significantly less time to write than I did before. If you give me like... a few weeks I'll be able to manage my schedule better, but for now, please expect chapters to be a day or two late sometimes. I'm not planning on abandoning this fic (I actually really happen to like this one so far) but I am warning you that if you're expecting me to consistently update on the same day, it may not work out like that. 
> 
> Of course, I'm going to do my best to maintain my schedule, and I'll actually start having real weekends again starting this week (I haven't had more than 32 hours off consecutively in almost three months), but please give me some time to figure out my new writing schedule. 
> 
> That being said, chapter four probably won't be updated on Monday (02/01/2021), and I'm sorry for that. Mondays will probably remain my usual upload days, because I write most of my chapters on Sunday nights, but I'm going to have to hold off on confirming that for sure. 
> 
> Thanks and love y'all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. This took longer than expected. I apologize. I think I’ll move my upload dates to Sundays, since that works best with my new schedule. That means y’all are getting two chapters this week lol.  
> Between my jobs (yes, plural) and actually having to rewrite this chapter a handful of times (it was way too graphic originally), this one took longer than expected. I also went back and copyedited the first chapter and plan on doing the other ones soon, since I’ve noticed a considerable uptick in story interest this week and I finally found a reason to make sure my writing is legible.  
> Trigger warnings for character death, self-harm, and interactions with a dead body. Also, Cas does have an autistic meltdown in this chapter. I will remind you that I am autistic and am basing this meltdown on ones I have had in the past. As I’ve mentioned before, I really will not appreciate comments regarding my portrayal of autism from NT ppl, as my intention is to share my personal experiences, not to represent some universal archetype of what you think autism looks like.  
> As always, thank you for reading, and I really appreciate your comments!

The snow lining the riverbank was the only reason Dean didn’t wade into the water right then. He didn’t have a spotter or anyone to call if he got swept away.

Snow was a bad sign. Snow sticking to the riverbank, where the water from the river should’ve been warm enough to melt some of it, was a worse one. The river temperature must’ve dropped further this year than usual, allowing the snow to rest on the muddy banks without sloughing off into a disgusting, brown sludge.

His heart rate tripled as he surveyed the water, eyes alert for any sign of Jimmy.

He kept telling himself that he was insane. There was no way Jimmy had been swept away by the water. There was no way that his body would be washing up on Dean’s riverbank anytime soon. Absolutely no way.

No, Jimmy had to be fine. He was probably just on a weekend trip with some clients or business associates and he forgot to give Cas a heads up.

_Without his car?_

The thought came to him, entirely unbidden and unwelcome, just like the constant memory of Jimmy slipping through the mud along the river. The way he’d kept falling. The dirt stains on his knees.

Dean rubbed his eyes to clear the unhappy thoughts away.

No, Jimmy had to be alive. Dean was just being overly cautious, checking the river for any number of things. There could be trash floating that he needed to grab, or someone’s fishing supplies that had gotten caught in the current. That’s what he was looking for. Obviously.

He hoped that he would manage to avoid running into Cas until Jimmy was found. If he couldn’t even convince himself that Jimmy was okay, how was he supposed to convince Cas?

His eyes scanned the banks, looking for anything strange or unusual trapped in the mud. A lost leather, wing-tip shoe. A suit jacket.

A body.

A shiver rocked through him, and he tried to pretend it was from the cold.

He traced the border of his river, cursing when his eyes landed on the felled tree leaning into the water.

It had fallen a few weeks before, and he hadn’t felt safe hiring anyone to come and pull it out of the river. Now, it lay halfway out across the water, catching bits of debris and trash in its dead branches. It had been a royal pain in his ass since it had landed with a crash while he’d been walking nearby.

Sometimes, fish got caught in it and died, their bloated bodies rising to the surface and eventually rotting. He’d had to buy two sets of waders, one for himself and one for Sam, just so they could pull the carcasses out. Pain in the ass.

Unfortunately, it was now a pain in the ass that gave him a horrifying mental image.

Jimmy’s body submerged and tangled in the tree. Him struggling and fighting for his life under the water, damaged and broken from being dragged down the river. Jimmy drowning there while Dean was comfortably sleeping just a few hundred feet away.

No. Dean stopped the thought in its tracks. Jimmy was fine. He was safe and on a business trip. He would be home in a few days. Dean didn’t need to worry about him, because he wasn’t dead.

Dean wasn’t here to look for Jimmy’s body, he was here to look for trash and dead fish. That was it.

No reason to panic.

His watch beeped, a sign that the new hour had started. He checked it, more out of habit than necessity. Seven AM. It was time to leave for work.

He surveyed the river one more time, scanning it for anything unusual. The snow around the edges gave him almost as much anxiety as the felled tree. If Jimmy hadn’t been bludgeoned to death on the floor of the river or drowned in a tangled lump underneath the tree, then the hypothermia would’ve taken him in no time at all.

He pinched his arm.

Jimmy was fine. He was being overly dramatic.

Jimmy was fine.

Maybe if Dean repeated it enough times, he’d eventually believe it.

* * *

Castiel spent the morning puttering around the house, his earlier conversation with Jody ringing in his ears on repeat.

_Cas, I honestly think he’s fine. Besides, it’s not like I can do anything until he’s been gone for forty-eight hours. Just wait a few more days and we’ll talk again._

He started up a pot of coffee, waiting until the hot aroma filled the kitchen before leaning his back against the counter, eyes on the window. The sun was barely peeking out over the horizon, almost invisible through the thick fog and heavy cloud cover.

_Jody, I’m really concerned. Please. You know this isn’t like him._

His voice had sounded desperate, even to him.

_Look, Cas, I get it. I do. I know what it’s like to lose someone. But Jimmy’s not lost. He’s probably fine. Maybe he had a business trip or something that he forgot to tell you about?_

Castiel rubbed at his eyes, weariness weighing down his shoulders. He felt like Atlas, bearing the burden of the sky.

The coffee pot dinged. He retrieved a chipped mug from the top shelf of the cabinet. It was an old thing, a gift from long ago. The logo on it had long faded, and he’d had to paint over various nicks and chips in the ceramic with clear nail polish, so his fingers didn’t accidentally brush up against the unpleasant texture of unglazed ceramic. Still, it was the only comfort item he kept in this haunted house. The one he saved for mornings like this when he wasn’t sure if he’d survive the day.

It had been a gift from Dean, years before. Something he’d picked up from a souvenir shop on one of the many multi-state road trips he’d taken with his father after Mary Winchester had passed.

_It’s the same color as your eyes!_

Castiel hadn’t asked Dean where he’d managed to scrape together the money. He didn’t want to know. Dean’s gap-toothed smile as he presented his prize was too pleasant of a memory to spoil with the knowledge that Castiel was now the owner of - most likely – stolen goods. He just hoped the souvenir shop hadn’t been a mom-and-pop store.

The coffee cut through the cold in his body, but couldn’t shake the shivery feeling rocking through him every time his thoughts returned to Jimmy.

Where the hell was he?

He itched to pick at the skin around his fingers, to feel the pull and give of flesh as he made himself bleed. The feel the clarity that the sting of pain could provide, the concentration afforded to him by the injury.

It probably didn’t help that yesterday was the anniversary of the death of their parents. The proximity to the macabre event had to be making him paranoid.

Maybe that was why he was so concerned. Maybe Jody was right. Jimmy probably had just forgotten to tell Castiel about a business trip he had, or something like that.

He winced as the thought brought up Jody’s comment from earlier.

_Not for nothing, but it’s not like you spend all that much time here anymore. Maybe you don’t know Jimmy as well as you think you do. He does this sometimes – has for a few years now, actually. It’s not all that unusual._

She’d been right, after all. He wasn’t exactly the resident Jimmy expert that he’d been when they lived under the same roof year-round. He didn’t know his brother as well as he thought he did. He wondered if he ever had.

He wasn’t sure when the change had happened. When he was younger, he’d always thought of him and Jimmy as two sides of the same coin. Two people with two different personalities and skill sets that complimented each other and couldn’t exist without one another. They needed each other. Castiel needed Jimmy to help him communicate with the outside world, and Jimmy needed Castiel for perspective and an ear to listen when he got too tangled up in his emotions.

Maybe it was when he’d moved to California for college. Maybe they’d never actually needed each other.

Maybe Castiel needed Jimmy, but Jimmy didn’t need him.

He drained the rest of his coffee, a desperate attempt to warm his chilled soul.

A draft breezed in through the corner of the kitchen door where the liner was cracked. He made a mental note to let Jimmy know when he got back. Because he was coming back later. When he got back from his business trip. The trip he’d forgotten to tell Castiel about. Of course.

Castiel spent the next few minutes puttering around the house, too nervous to do anything more than put on a fresh pair of clothes and brush his teeth. His eyes fell on the worry stone resting on his nightstand, and he grabbed it, deftly flipping it around in his palm the way he had a thousand times before. It almost soothed the urge to pick at his fingers.

Almost.

He almost wished he had work to get done, even if he knew he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything right now. He usually reserved his trips back to Lawrence for leisure, telling his agent to leave him alone until he got back to his apartment back in California, but now all he wanted was for something to focus on. A meeting to plan, a signing to go to, a manuscript to plot out.

He was almost tempted to text Balthazar and ask him to schedule an impromptu signing somewhere in Kansas City, just so he’d have an excuse to drive out and look for his brother. The only thing that held him back from doing so was the knowledge that his agent would tear him a new one for calling him before noon. He wasn’t exactly in the mood to get yelled at today.

He could do it, though, if he really wanted to. It wasn’t often that he indulged in the perks of being a celebrity, and it was even less often that he leveraged those perks for the sake of his own gain. Still, he was tempted. He knew any bookstore in the city would jump at the chance to have him visit. The buzz that his presence would generate would be enough to put any small shop on the map. He’d done it before for some of his favorite shops in LA. He could do it again out here.

The sun had risen fully by the time Castiel shook himself from his deliberations with the reminder that Jimmy was fine. Castiel could just yell at him over his disappearance when he got back.

He twirled the stone in his hand as he looked out the window at the dreary day and felt the draft blow over his bare feet. Just outside the house, the branches of one of the many pecan trees swayed in the wind, the dead remnants of pecans that hadn’t fallen clinging on, dried out shells that had cracked open and resembled strange, skeletal flowers peppering the otherwise bare branches. It was a depressing sight. Castiel flicked the wooden shutters shut.

Jimmy was fine.

He had to be.

* * *

Work was a fucking bitch when it got this cold. The old heater could only push so much hot air into the space, sputtering and hissing the whole time. Dean felt guilty if he bitched, though, knowing Bobby was probably worse off than he was.

Bobby had been in Dean’s life for longer than he could remember. Bobby’s wheelchair had been a part of Bobby’s life since before Dean was born.

Bobby didn’t have to use it all the time, a fact that left some people confused and others angry.

He and Dean’s dad, John, had served in the Marines together decades before. They’d been best friends, buddies at arms, the perfect duo, and the only ones the other could trust.

That was, until Bobby got his knee busted out by a bullet.

The surgeons had done their best, all things considered. They’d managed to save the leg, after all, an impressive feat if Bobby’s recollection of the damage was anything to go by. Still, the injury had been bad enough to award Bobby a Purple Heart and a ticket home.

He’d thrown the medal in the trashcan along with his uniform and a lit match.

Nowadays, he alternated between mediocre days, bad days, and worse ones. His knee would swell up to the size of a balloon if he walked around unassisted too much. Most of the time, he preferred the assistance of his wheelchair. For important occasions, he’d use a pair of crutches that strapped to his forearms. On the worst days, he wouldn’t get out of bed.

Dean knew better than to pity him, though. Looks aside, Bobby’s disability was deceiving. He was whip smart when it came to business, mean as shit when he didn’t like someone, and a damn good influence to have around while growing up. The wheelchair hadn’t stopped him from teaching Dean how to toss a baseball back and forth better than almost any other kid on his high school team.

You had to get pretty accurate about your aim when the man catching was a stubborn old codger who refused to wheel around an empty field to shag your overthrows.

Today, it seemed like the cold might’ve been getting to Bobby, judging by the way he’d hunched himself up in his office right in front of the ancient space heater dish he’d bought for Ellen when she visited.

Dean made a decision.

“Bobby, I’m gonna get lunch from the diner. Want anything?”

Dean knew that regardless of what Bobby asked for, Dean would also have to pick up something warm for him. Chicken soup and some coffee, maybe? Anything other than the swill he kept by the shop coffee machine.

“Get me one of them chicken salad sandwiches,”

Dean snorted. Leave it to Bobby to choose a cold food on a cold day. Chicken salad sandwich, chicken soup, and some coffee, then. Maybe a splash of whiskey in there somewhere.

The walk to the diner was uneventful, if colder than usual. He wondered where this cold snap was coming from. Sure, Kansas was usually cold in the winter but, damn, this was bad even by Midwest standards. The wind whipped through his thick coat, piercing through the scarf wrapped around his nose, tickling his scalp through his hat. He shivered.

The cold only served to make him nervous, though, unlike the annoyance it would normally invoke. His mind kept rotating around Jimmy. Was he lost somewhere down the river, an icicle wearing a nice watch?

Dean huffed, frustrated with his own anxiety. Jimmy wasn’t an icicle. He wasn’t a piece of trash caught in the branches of the felled log. He wasn’t a rotten fish carcass that would surface in a few days. He was on a business trip, and he’d be home soon.

Dean knew he was only this worried because he felt slightly guilty. If he hadn’t been the last one who’d laid eyes on Jimmy, he wouldn’t be this worried about the man’s whereabouts.

If he hadn’t watched Jimmy slip and fall over and over.

If he didn’t know how damn stubborn the Novaks were.

If he hadn’t just minded his own business and stuck to his fucking guns about saying no to Jimmy about the stupid boats.

His thoughts were spinning in their tracks, burying themselves in the mud in his brain.

The walk to the diner was short, just like the walk to anywhere in Lawrence, and before he knew it, Dean was staring back at his own reflection in the glass door.

He couldn’t see much through the layers of scarves and hats and jackets, but from what he could see, he looked terrible. Unsurprisingly, after the sleepless night he’d had. Nightmares of rivers and drowning had plagued him for hours, and he’d tossed and turned in bed until the sun rose.

His eyes were the worst part. Even in the dim reflection, he could see how the worry weighed on his brows, dragging them down into a pathetic expression of fear.

“Anyone ever show you how to open a door?”

Jody Mills, the town sheriff, was one of Dean’s favorite people around. She and her wife Donna were fixtures of the community, and almost singlehandedly responsible for Lawrence’s tolerance for LGBT couples. It was hard to harass Donna when she was busy delivering baked goods to the local hospital or running donation drives for impoverished communities just outside the town limits. It was harder to harass Jody when she was the one with handcuffs on standby and held very stringent views regarding punishment for hate crimes.

The very few times someone had put up a fuss over the couple, Jody and Donna had shut it down instantly, the latter with kindness and the former with her signature smile and a reminder that she had a badge and a gun, and she wasn’t afraid to use either.

Honestly, if it weren’t for the two of them, neither Dean nor Charlie would’ve ever had the guts to come out. Hell, if it weren’t for them, Cas’ parents would’ve killed him when they stumbled in on him and Dean kissing. The moment Dean had seen the murderous glint in Michael Novak’s eyes, Dean had dialed Jody and begged her to intervene. Because of her, Cas had lived to see another day.

“No, they haven’t. How about you do the honors?” He lifted an eyebrow at her, knowing she wouldn’t be able to see the smirk behind his scarf.

Jody rolled her eyes, but opened the door anyways, dramatically waving her arms to gesture for him to enter.

“Thanks, Vanna White,”

“Call me that again and you’ll get a boot shoved where the sun don’t shine,” Jody’s voice held no actual threat.

“Kinky,” He waggled his eyebrows at her.

The diner was warm enough that he almost instantly had no need for his scarf. He unwrapped it, feeling the damp cloth peel away from his face. Gross.

There was a counter for them to order from, and a high school student was standing there waiting for them. Dean was pretty sure her name was Krissy. Wasn’t she one of Claire’s friends?

The thought of Claire made him wince, anxiety flooding through him again. He pushed it down.

“It’s pretty cold outside. How’s Bobby doing?” Jody’s voice was polite and disinterested, mostly just making conversation for the sake of talking. Everyone knew Bobby was always worse when it got cold.

“He’s doin’ okay. Holed up in his office and hunched around a space heater, but otherwise good,”

“That’s good, I was worried about him,” Jody said before turning to order her food. When she finished, Dean stepped forward and ordered for him and Bobby, plunking cash down on the counter for Krissy to count.

“No kidding. Work’s been slow since we finished up Jimmy’s car the other day. Just a few oil changes and tire pressures that needed checking. Nothin’ much otherwise,”

Dean wasn’t quite sure how to describe the change in Jody’s demeanor when she went into Sheriff Mode. Something about her brow setting a little higher, her eyes hardening into a mask that no one could see behind, her shoulders stiffening as she prepared to ask hard questions.

“Speaking of Jimmy,” She started, “How’s he doing?”

Dean wasn’t sure where she was going with this. Had Cas called her?

“Haven’t heard from him in a few days,” He answered honestly.

“That’s what Castiel said this morning,”

Alright, that answered that question. Apparently, Cas had taken his advice after all.

“You talked to him?”

Jody huffed.

“Yeah, the idiot called me at five in the morning. Beat my alarm by fifteen minutes,”

Dean ignored her irritable complaints. Jody could put up with losing fifteen minutes of sleep, and he knew she was whining as a way to make conversation and not to bash on Cas.

“What’d he say?”

“Oh, that’s the thing. He said he thinks Jimmy’s missing. Said you were the last one to see him,”

Dean winced. He knew she didn’t mean to sound accusatory, but he definitely took it that way. Jody’s bluntness could be a little disconcerting at times. She didn’t doublespeak the way most people did. She said what she meant. When she said Dean had been the last one to see him, she wasn’t implying that Dean was responsible for the fact that he hadn’t been seen since the night at the pier. She just meant that Dean had been the last one to see him. Still, he couldn’t help but feel like this whole mess was his fault.

Business trip. Kansas City. Forgot to tell Cas.

The anxiety wormed its way through his gut, tearing at his conscience.

“What’d you tell him?”

“Well, I asked him if he had any reason for thinking Jimmy was missing, and you’ll never guess what he said,”

Dean knew exactly what he said. The same thing he always said when got too frustrated to articulate.

“What was that?”

“He said, get this: ‘I don’t know,’. How do you report a missing person and not know why you think they’re missing?”

Dean winced. When Cas got overwhelmed, he had a hard time finding the right words to explain his emotions or his worries, and it often resulted in him using I don’t know as a defense mechanism. It wasn’t that he didn’t know, it was that he didn’t know where to start. Most people didn’t understand that, though, and as a result, many of Cas’ genuine concerns and worries, hope and dreams were often overlooked as simple fantasy or paranoia.

“Listen, Jody, I – “

She groaned and rolled her eyes.

“Not you, too,”

He rubbed his eyes. The anxiety in his gut was warring with the mantra of business trip in Kansas City that was playing on repeat in his brain.

Without warning, an image of Cas flashed through his mind. Cas, anxious and worried and scared, worrying away at the stone in his hand, looking to Dean for support. For help. For reassurance.

Jimmy had been missing for less than forty-eight hours, if Dean’s math was correct. If he really had been the last person to see him. He was an adult man who was used to not having to tell anyone where he was going or when he had things to do in the city.

On the other hand, he hadn’t been answering his phone, and the last time Dean had seen him, he’d almost fallen into the river.

The freezing cold river that was a mile and a half upstream from the drop off point on Dean’s riverbank.

Trash. Dead fish. The felled tree.

His anxiety spiked, and he couldn’t stop himself from saying, “Yeah, me too,”

Jody’s mood changed when she realized Dean meant it.

“Shit,” Her voice was breathy, almost a whisper.

“How much did Cas tell you?”

“Not much,” She shook her head, “Just that he was missing, and you were the last one to see him. That’s it, I swear. I thought he was just being paranoid,”

Dean sighed and explained the whole situation. Where he’d left Jimmy. Where Jimmy could’ve gone missing from.

“Fuck,” Jody was visibly upset, almost shaking, “If I’d have known that, I would’ve called for a search party as soon as Cas called me,”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Dean tried to calm her down, “It’s easy to forget that as good of a writer as Cas is, he’s not so great with words sometimes,” He paused, “At least you can call for one now,”

Jody nodded.

“I’ve got an order for a broccoli cheddar, and another order for a chicken soup, chicken salad, and a tomato rice soup,” Krissy announced to the almost empty diner.

Jody and Dean retrieved their orders.

“Meet up at the town square by four. We’re gonna get as many people in on this as possible and it’s gonna take some time to arrange. If he’s been gone for as long as you think, we’re gonna need as much man power as we can get,”

Dean nodded and they parted ways. The anxiety in his gut was roiling.

He hoped Cas would take the news okay.

* * *

The search party took too long to organize, the sun long gone by the time everyone was at the meeting point. The call time to meet in the square was four o’clock, according to Jody. Four hours to get everyone in town who was willing to help together. Four hours from the time she called Castiel until they were all standing in the middle of town, circled around a fucking gazebo, waiting for Jody to give out locations. It wasn’t hard to guess where Jimmy had probably ended up. There were only a handful of drop off spots along the river, and even fewer places in between where he could’ve surfaced.

“Alright, everyone, this is being treated as a search and rescue for the time being,” Jody began.

A voice interrupted her, nasally and anxious.

“Are you sure he’s still alive?” Chuck asked, his voice cracking when he seemed to realize the inappropriateness of the question he’d just asked.

Castiel couldn’t fault him for it, though. If he’d heard the gossip correctly, Chuck had up close experience with being swept away, and it was only fair for him to know better than anyone what had probably happened.

Business trip. Kansas City. Castiel repeated in his mind. They were just being overly cautious with a search party. That was all. If Jimmy was alive and in the city, this whole thing would just be a funny story someday. A ha, remember when that happened story.

If he wasn’t alive, though…

Castiel didn’t want to consider the possibility.

It was easier to distance himself from the situation. He glanced around at the townspeople, wondering how he’d write this scene down if he were putting it in a novel. It was a nervous habit he’d developed as a child, and one that he still frequently used to this day. The smokescreen his author brain provided helped to put distance between himself and the world around him, a protective barrier to keep him away from the crueler aspects of the world.

_The crowd was tense, shuffling back and forth in their worry as they watched the sheriff hand out orders. She was an imposing woman on a good day, and downright scary on a bad one. Today, she was intimidating, a drill sergeant handing down orders from on high. The faces of the townspeople twisted with concern as they learned their respective scouting locations. They whispered among themselves, their concern palpable, an electric current that hung through the air. Everyone seemed to share the same thought. Jimmy was de-_

Castiel turned off his author brain.

“Dean, you and Cas can handle your property, right?” Jody’s voice gave him something to concentrate on, but he was still too distracted to process the fact that she’d paired him and Dean up.

Dean was standing next to Jody on the gazebo’s raised platform. He was arranging various supplies and handing out packs to the various searchers, flashlights and packs of handwarmers. He stopped to look at Castiel before apparently deciding for the both of them.

“Yeah, we’ve got it covered,”

Castiel didn’t miss the bleak tone in his voice. He tried to ignore the dread building in his own gut, but it was hard when all he could see was the way Dean’s eyes sagged and his shoulders drooped.

Dean was the only person Castiel could read without a problem, and right now, Dean’s worry was a fucking open book test.

Before too long, Castiel was loaded into Dean’s car with a pack full of meager searching supplies. There were flares, a reflective vest, some handwarmers, an extra set of gloves, and a flashlight.

“I’ve got some waders at my place. We can grab them before we head down to the water line,”

“I’m okay, thank you,” Castiel didn’t even try to disguise the fact that his voice was completely devoid of emotion. He knew Dean wouldn’t take offense.

Off-handedly, he found himself deliberating over their current situation. In the span of a few days, Dean had gone from his ex-boyfriend whom he’d left behind on the dance floor, kneeling with a ring in his hand, to the man driving him to search for his missing brother. Castiel was thrown off by how natural it felt, just being in Dean’s presence. The strangeness of their estrangement should not have been solved by a few measly jokes, some forced camaraderie, and a missing persons case, but here they were. Side by side in the car Castiel had practically spent half his childhood and most of his teen years in, listening to the same tapes he’d listened to as a kid. Dean’s thumbs tapped on the steering wheel, more in a nervous tic than any attempt to match the song’s drum beat. He wasn’t even close to being correct about the rhythm.

Castiel would never understand how people could say any scene in one of his books was unrealistic when this current situation was something that was happening in his real, actual life. Somehow, this whole event felt more contrived than anything he’d ever written, and that was saying something, if the opinions of his harshest critics were anything to go by.

The drive to Dean’s house went by quickly, and in less than no time, they were standing on Dean’s front step as he fumbled with his keys to let them inside. The waders were in the spare closet by the front door.

“I’ll wear Sam’s, you wear mine,” Dean handed him a pair of what looked to be rubber overall with a pair of boots attached, “I don’t have any gear for our upper bodies, so we need to try and stay where the water is below our waists. We really should only go in the water one at a time, but I have a feeling you’re not gonna agree to that,”

Castiel shook his head.

“Figured. Here’s the plan, then. Those flares in those packs,” Dean gestured to the bags he’d handed out during the meeting, “Those are waterproof. We’re gonna take those out there with us. If anything goes wrong, we’ll light them up. Do not let go of me, under any circumstance. The water is the coldest it’s been in years right now, and I don’t have a gauge on how strong the current is. You let go of me, and there’s a chance that you or I could get swept away, and I can’t deal with that possibility tonight. Understand?”

Castiel nodded.

“Good,” Dean poked the waders in Castiel’s hands, “Go get changed,”

* * *

Dean had a really bad feeling about the felled tree, and he’d had it ever since he saw it that morning. Now, though, with his heart in his gut and Cas’ hand wrapped tightly in his own, all he could feel was an all-encompassing dread. All day long, he’d been telling himself that Jimmy was fine. Jimmy was on a business trip. Jimmy would be home in a few days. He wasn’t sure when he’d stopped doing that. Now, all he could hope for was that they wouldn’t find him drowned underneath the damn tree in the river.

It wouldn’t be an easy thing to reach. He hadn’t been joking when he said he didn’t know what the current was like. Luckily, the bend in the river on his property didn’t run too deep, maybe chest-height at the worst, but it was more than enough to suck a grown man under if there were any wayward eddies he didn’t know about. Hell, water above the knees was dangerous, especially in the parts of the river without rocks lining the bottom. The silt could easily suck them down if they weren't careful. Dean could admit he was nervous about what they were going to do.

They’d left their cell phones on a rock near the riverbank, not willing to risk the water damage. Cas had loaded his chest pocket up with flares, and a flare gun he’d found in Dean’s closet. Dean held the flashlight.

They walked in the water together, ankle deep, hands clasped tightly as they tried desperately to see through the dark, murky water. Neither said a word.

Cas was shaking. Dean wasn’t sure if it was from fear or cold. Maybe both.

“He’s gonna be alright,” Dean tried to soothe him.

Cas just stared blankly ahead, eyes dancing along the water’s surface.

Dean cursed internally. He knew he hadn’t been around Cas much in years, but he knew what that face meant. Cas had gone non-verbal.

Cas had certain levels to how he responded to things. First, if things were slightly overwhelming, he’d get frustrated. Then, he’d start getting angry. Sometimes, he’d reach a full-blown meltdown, although those had tapered off when they entered their adult years. The worst times were when he lost the ability to speak.

It used to happen after a particularly bad fight with his parents, or after a bully had said something that struck a chord.

Of course, now that they had to wade into a freezing cold river, with the sun long gone behind the horizon and the stars peeking out overhead, now was the time Cas went nonverbal again. Dean couldn’t blame him. This whole situation had to be incredibly overwhelming. Hell, Dean wasn’t related to Jimmy and he was still freaking the fuck out as it was. He couldn’t imagine what it was like for Cas.

Still, if he went under or got swept away… if he started to feel something give under his feet…

They needed a communication method.

“Cas?” He didn’t look at Cas’ face to see if he’d heard him, he just kept talking, “Remember when we were kids and you couldn’t speak?”

Cas squeezed his hand in rapid succession, three quick pulses. He did remember. Their secret childhood code. Three short squeezes for yes, one long one for no.

“Use the code for yes if you feel the rocks underneath you giving way. Give me a chance to pull you to safety,” He shined the flashlight towards the felled tree, “I think we’re going to have to check the brush under there,”

Cas squeezed his hand for one long, painful moment.

“I know, bud, it’s not ideal. But you want to check everywhere, right?”

Three short squeezes.

“Okay, so then let’s build up to it. We can walk this side of the river for as long as you need and when you’re ready, we’ll wade in as far as we can,”

Dean was concerned about the depth of the water. He didn’t want to risk getting water in his waders. That was a one-way ticket to hypothermia.

He was concerned about the slip and slide of the silt and river rocks underneath their feet.

He was concerned about Cas getting sucked away, unable to speak.

He was concerned about Jimmy.

He steeled his shoulders, tightening his grip on Cas’ hand.

“Let’s walk,”

They paced along the length of the river, ankle deep in freezing water. Even through the rubber boots of his waders, Dean could feel the cold icing over his toes. The wind whipped at his nose, chapping his lips. He couldn’t risk wearing a scarf in the water – it presented a dangerous drowning hazard if he fell and a frostbite hazard if it got wet – and so his face was exposed to the elements. He could feel ice sticking to his lashes, weighing them down.

This was a bad fucking idea.

He glanced at Cas.

Cas looked at him for a long moment before squeezing his hand three times.

Time to go in.

Dean scoped the best angle to come up alongside the felled tree without getting swept away. He decided it would probably be best for them to walk out along the tree itself, holding onto it for support and hoping that it didn’t give way under their combined effort to move.

It was slow going, freezing water kicking up at them at every moment. If Jody were here, she’d tear him a new one. He was pretty sure this went against every single rule for volunteer search parties, but he didn’t care. He knew if he didn’t check this river, he’d never be able to relax. Never be able to believe Jimmy could be alive.

He just needed to check it. He needed to prove to himself that Jimmy wasn’t here. If he wasn’t here, then that meant he was in Kansas City.

Dean knew his internal bargaining was just a desperate attempt to avoid dealing with his own guilt. He fucking knew it. Didn’t mean he was going to stop begging.

He stepped forward, and the stone he landed on slipped underneath him, settling into a less precarious position. He sloshed forward, sputtering as ice cold water splashed his face. Cas sucked in a breath, his hand tightening on Dean’s.

Dean cursed. He needed to be more careful. Needed to watch where he was going.

“I’m okay,” Dean said through his chattering teeth when Cas’ hand didn’t loosen it’s stranglehold on his.

He shifted his grip on the tree so he could angle his flashlight down into the water. Nothing.

He breathed a sigh of relief. They were almost to the tip of the tree now, just a few more feet, and he’d prove to himself once and for all that there was nothing out here. Jimmy wasn’t missing.

He was so lost in thought that he almost missed it.

In his defense, it was the tiniest glint in the water. Just a small hint of light. If anything, it could’ve easily been mistaken for the flashlight’s beam reflecting off the surface. If Dean hadn’t been on such high alert, he probably would’ve dismissed it outright.

That being said, he did see the flash. It was a few feet in front of him, coming from an odd, low angle just under the water. Barely even submerged.

Dean saw a face, right below the surface, so pale that the beam of his flashlight reflected off of it like a beacon.

Dean’s heart stopped in his chest.

“Cas, you need to get back to shore,”

One long squeeze of his hand.

“Dude, I’m serious,”

Another long squeeze.

Dean groaned. Fucking Novaks.

“Castiel Novak, I need you to listen to me right now,” He took a deep breath, eyes on the water, “I need you to get back on shore and I need you to call Jody,”

That got Cas’ attention.

“Please,” Dean whispered. If he was about to uncover Jimmy’s body, he didn’t want Cas there to see it. His eyes landed on Cas’, wide and pleading, and his heart broke in his chest. The desperate look on Cas’ face was devastating, raw and vulnerable in the way only Cas knew how to be.

After a moment, Cas nodded. Their hands slowly unclasped.

Dean watched as Cas made it back to shore. Dean turned to make his way towards the watch again when the rocks under his feet gave way, and his legs went out from under him.

His head submerged under the icy water, and he was pretty sure that he was going to die. Branches clawed at him from every direction, mud and silt rose around his thrashing body, and he knew right then that this was it.

He was going to die here.

He fought like hell, though, kicking and punching at the tree to try and break free of its grasp. He couldn’t open his eyes for fear of them freezing over, so he opted to muscle his way through.

It felt like an eternity before a strong hand wrapped around his shoulder and pulled him above the water.

The water clinging to his skin froze immediately in the cold air. Cas stood before him, a mixture of terror and panic and anger warring on his face. He didn’t say anything, just pulled a flare out of his chest pocket, loaded it into the flare gun, and fired it high into the sky.

As Dean watched the flare explode overhead, all he could think was Wow, Jimmy was right. Fireworks on the river would’ve been beautiful.

* * *

By the time the two of them got back onto the muddy riverbank, Dean was frozen solid, and Cas was practically catatonic.

Dean knew that he had less time than he thought to get out of the cold and strip himself out of the waders and his soaked clothes. One look at Cas, though, and he knew he had more important things to worry about.

The lifelessness in Cas’ normally sharp eyes was concerning, to say the least. His jaw was loose, not quite hanging, but enough that Dean could see his mouth parted. That wasn’t the worst part, though. Every bit of him seemed to sag, as if the only thing holding him up right now was Dean’s arm around his shoulders.

“Hey, Cas?” Dean’s kept his voice soft, the way one would speak to a spooked animal.

Cas didn’t acknowledge him.

“I gotta get dried off. Let’s go inside, okay?”

There was no response.

Dean tried to pull Cas alongside him, but the man didn’t budge. His gaze was focused on the river.

“Dude, I can’t leave you alone out here,”

Cas still didn’t move.

Dean made a decision. In the long run, he was going to regret this, but he didn’t have much time to come up with any other options. He could already feel his hands going numb.

In less than a moment, he had scooped Cas up onto his shoulders in a fireman-carry, thanking God that he still had the strength to do it.

Cas sprung to life like a cornered tiger. He started kicking and pummeling Dean’s shoulders, his chest, his back. Sobs cut through the air. Dean held on as tight as he could and began struggling towards the house. It wasn’t easy. Cas didn’t make it easy. Somehow, though, miraculously, Dean made it back to the house.

They couldn’t see the river from Dean’s front porch. He figured it was a good thing.

He didn’t let Cas down until they were inside, trailing mud all over the creaky wood floors. Dean immediately started working on getting a fire going. Cas stared at him for a long moment, tears streaming down his face, before he slumped onto the ground and pushed himself up against a wall.

Dean knew what was coming next before it happened.

Cas rocked his head forward and slammed it back into the wall, hard enough that the sound reverberated through Dean’s own skull. Before Dean could stop him, he did it again. Sobs ripped out of Cas’ chest.

Dean dropped the logs in his hands, figuring he could deal with a little hypothermia if it meant preventing Cas from getting brain damage.

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t do that,” Dean tried to soothe. Cas didn’t listen. He slammed his head against the wall again. The crack felt like it ricocheted through the entire house, punctuated by Cas’ wails.

Dean snagged a throw pillow off the couch, tucking it behind Cas’ head before he could hit it again. Cas tried to hit himself again but was stopped by the cushion. He didn’t seem to notice. He just kept rocking his head back as hard as he could.

Dean knew there was nothing he could do to stop what was happening, only mitigate the resulting damages. He also knew he needed to get out of his frozen clothes. His teeth were chattering, and his hands were shaking.

Biting his lip and hoping the pillow would be enough for a few minutes, he returned to the fireplace, making quick work out of starting the fire. Soon, the sound of burning wood punctuated Cas’ tears and the heavy thwump, thwump thwump of his head against the pillow.

While Cas was out of immediate danger, Dean took advantage of the opportunity to change clothes. He stripped out of the waders while standing in front of the fire, tossing them in a heap away from the heat. He cringed as he surveyed the mess of mud and dirt everywhere and promised to clean it up when he got the chance.

He looked at Cas to make sure he was okay before quickly jogging to his room and changing clothes. He also dug through his dresser for a change of clothes for Cas. An old band tee he’d had since high school with the tag ripped out of the neckline and soft as butter from years of wear. A pair of loose-fitting cotton boxers, the kind Cas had always preferred. The tight briefs apparently pulled at his leg hair and made him uncomfortable. Finally, a pair of old, threadbare sweatpants.

If Cas were anyone else, this would be the worst set of clothes to offer them. Threadbare, pockmarked with holes and old oil stains, the logos barely visible. But Dean knew Cas would appreciate them for what they were: soft, comfortable, and most importantly, not likely to overstimulate him.

When Cas had been younger, he’d generally been pretty okay with dealing with the discomfort clothing caused him. He’d had to be, with the way his parents dressed him. Hell, even now it seemed like he was generally able to wear uncomfortable clothing without a problem, judging by the weird trench coat he had been wearing the other day. Still, there was no point in risking giving Cas something with a tag or a pair of briefs that would pull on his leg hair. He was already in meltdown-mode, now it was mitigation time.

When he returned to the front room, clothes in hand, Cas had quieted down. Now, instead of loudly wailing, he was just sitting there quietly, resting his head against the pillow with tears streaming down his face. He was angled towards the fire, but he wasn’t looking at it. His gaze was a million miles away.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean whispered, “I brought you some clothes. Are you good to get changed?”

Cas nodded.

“Okay, let’s get you out of those waders, then,”

Dean held out a hand and helped Cas up. When Cas didn’t make a move to unsnap the shoulder straps holding the waders up, Dean did it for him. The waders pooled around Cas’ ankles. He still didn’t move.

“Can you lift your leg for me?” Dean asked gently, kneeling to help ease Cas’ foot out of the inbuilt boot. Cas did as asked, a puppet on Dean’s quiet strings. Dean guided Cas’ foot back to the bare floor.

“Okay, now the other one,” They repeated the process.

“Are you gonna be okay to change clothes?”

Cas nodded. Dean held out the pile of clothing in his hands. Cas took them, absentmindedly running his fingers over the shirt’s logo.

He pulled his shirt off slowly, the wet squelching echoing through the room. Dean helped him guide it over his head. Cas’ eyes were a million miles away when Dean looked at his face.

“Arms up,”

Cas’ arms went up without hesitation, and Dean slid the clean shirt over them, slipping it down around his head gently.

Dean’s brain sputtered to a halt when he realized what the next step was.

“Hey, buddy?”

Cas gave no indication that he’d heard Dean.

“You’re gonna have to do this next part yourself, okay?”

Immediately, Cas began unbuttoning his pants, giving Dean almost no time to avert his eyes. He could feel the blush rising in his cheeks.

“I’m just gonna… I’m gonna grab us some cocoa, okay?”

If Cas responded, Dean didn’t see it. He was too busy counting the flecks of mud on the floor, trying desperately to think about anything other than the fact that his ex-boyfriend was about to expose himself.

C’mon man, his brother’s dead. Don’t be weird, He thought to himself.

With that, he turned on his heels and made his way into the kitchen.

* * *

Castiel was just starting to return to himself when the knock sounded on the door.

In all honesty, he’d completely forgotten that he’d signaled for Jody. When he’d seen Dean go under the water, he’d lost any and all logical thoughts other than save him. He’d immediately jumped into action, acting more on instinct than rationality. It wasn’t until after he’d pulled Dean out of the water that he’d lost the ability to speak. He knew he couldn’t make a phone call, and he knew Dean wasn’t in any shape for one either. Without a second thought as to whether or not it would work, he shot off a flare.

He knew he was in for a bad time when the spiders started crawling up and down his veins.

He knew he was going to meltdown the moment Dean had picked him up.

Now, he was sitting on Dean’s couch, a soft blanket wrapped around his shoulders, wearing Dean’s clothes, cupping a mug of cocoa. Dean had retrieved Castiel’s worry stone from the pocket of his jeans, and it was resting on his knee.

He was very, very desperately trying to keep his mind blank. He didn’t want to think about the reality of his situation. He’d managed to do a successful job so far, by keeping his eyes on his drink, counting the swirls of the cocoa powder as they moved across the surface.

One. Two. Three.

The knock on the door brought reality crashing down around him.

“I’ll deal with it,”

Dean was being so kind. Kinder than Castiel had deserved. In any other circumstances, he wouldn’t accept what Dean was offering. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure exactly what Dean was offering here. Kindness? Friendship? A shoulder to cry on?

He’d certainly offered a pillow when Castiel had needed it. He was lucky Dean had been there. If his headache was anything to go by, Castiel probably would’ve end up with a concussion if it weren’t for the assistance.

It wasn’t like Castiel had wanted to hurt himself. It was an impulse, a need. He had to hurt himself. It was the only way to calm the screaming in his mind. The only thing that quelled the image of Jimmy under the water…

He scrunched his eyes shut. He didn’t want to listen to Dean and Jody’s hushed conversation. Hell, he’d done a good job of not noticing that Dean had even let Jody in in the first place.

“We’re gonna call some divers out…”

“Tomorrow morning, most likely,”

“He’ll stay here tonight,”

“…haven’t called Claire yet…”

The snippets of conversation floated in and out of Castiel’s ears, nonsensical in his purposed distraction. Seconds felt like hours. Minutes felt like decades. He kept his eyes on his cocoa.

“They found his phone a few miles downriver,”

A rustling noise.

“Thanks, Jody,”

A door opened and shut. Silence.

Dean sat down next to Cas on the couch.

“If I give you Jimmy’s phone now, is it gonna trigger something?”

Castiel shook his head.

Dean placed the phone is Castiel’s hand. It felt like a cold lump. Castiel pressed the power button, more on instinct than anything else. There was no way it had survived its trip down the river, even if the weather proof case it was sporting seemed undamaged.

When the screen lit up, it caught Castiel off guard, shocked that it still worked. A few long moments passed, and the phone turned on completely.

Jimmy’s lockscreen was an old photo of him and Claire. She was about four years old, gap-toothed and grinning below a neon pink bucket hat. Jimmy was holding her on his hip smiling.

They were standing on the river dock.

Castiel went to turn the phone off, but it started ringing before he had the chance.

Claire’s face flashed across the screen, a newer photo of her showing off her new nose piercing. Her nose was scrunched, eyes wide in a comical pose.

Castiel pressed ANSWER CALL before he could talk himself out of it.

“Dad?” Her voice was desperate, terrified, “Oh thank fucking god,”

“It’s me, Claire,” Castiel’s voice was raw as he forced out the words, “It’s me,”

He couldn’t hold back the floodgates anymore, and he descended into a puddle of tears. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what is with me and always making the last scene of every chapter super short?? anyways thanks for reading!


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